


Raven From the Ashes

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angelic Grace, Brigid - Freeform, Castiel Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester Angst, Comfort/Angst, Dean Winchester Angst, F/M, Fallen Angels, Gen, Goddesses, Hurt Castiel, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Isis - Freeform, Love, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Venus - Freeform, Virgin Mary - Freeform, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 152,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reuniting after Purgatory brings Dean and Cas to a romantic impasse, except human-angel love is against Heaven's law. The two are soon hunted by demons and angels alike, though the angels succeed at dragging Cas off to Heaven for "purification". Dean sets off on a quest to find Mary, Queen of Heaven, mother of all angels, who Cas says is the only one with the power to stop the madness. An angel cast out of Heaven called Amina appears, claiming to have been raised as a fledgling with Cas and demands to help. Sam is immediately taken with the fallen angel, which leads him on his own journey of self-discovery. Dean doesn't know whether to trust her and he doesn't know how he's going to find Mary, but he's not going to stop until he brings Cas home. The hunters soon discover the Virgin Mary's plan to go to war in Heaven for her own piece of power. She wants to be a goddess in her own right, but she can't do it without the faith and blood of the Righteous Man. In exchange for busting Cas out of Heaven, he has to give Mary what she wants. Will Mary hold up her end of the bargain? Will Dean? And will Sam finally find happiness in the process?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raven From the Ashes

Dean, stiffly seated at the wobbly motel table by the window, looked at the ghost on the bed again, hoping Sam wouldn't notice. He'd been ready to vomit all night - from joy or fear, he didn't know. The trench coat, the messy blue tie, the unreadable expression. They were all there. He wasn't hallucinating as he thought he had been all week.

The angel's lips pulled upward into a subtle smile of contentment. Lounging back against the headboard of the far bed and loosely clutching the remote control, he gave the unnerving appearance of being altogether human and absorbed in the Discovery Channel.

But he wasn't supposed to be here. Dean couldn't drag his angel ass out of Purgatory and he'd poured enough booze on the pain to kill a weaker man. And then Castiel just reappeared out of nowhere. He claimed not to know how he got out, and then worse still, he confessed to Dean that he didn't ever intend to leave with him. He thought he deserved living in that God damned place. So he shoved Dean to safety and let go. He just let go. God damn him for letting go.

Castiel changed the channel and Dean swallowed half a glass of whiskey in one gulp. He couldn't process his feelings. The overwhelming urge to hug the angel fought against the overwhelming urge to punch him for putting him through agony. Deeper - way deeper - Dean knew full well that he'd fallen in love with Castiel when he pulled his trench coat out of the reservoir. Too many times he'd seen the angel get killed by stupid decisions. A year of searching for him in Purgatory, then finding him, only to lose him again, did nothing to deaden his feelings. He tried. God damn if he didn't try every day to stop the insanity. What fucking moron falls in love with an angel? In a dude's body no less? But he thought Castiel was beautiful, more beautiful than all the women he nailed. Even meeting Jimmy Novak was nothing compared to when Castiel was in control.

The hunter pulled his eyes off the ghost and refilled his glass.

"Dean!" Sam's voice, just across the table, jolted him from behind a laptop.

"What the hell, man?"

Eyes narrowed and head tilted, Sam looked bewildered. "I said what do we want to do about dinner?"

"Oh, I dunno. Doesn't matter to me. Whatever you want." His eyes slid back to Castiel completely against his will.

"Right. I'm going out then." Skeptically, Sam stood and stretched. Rather than move for the door, he turned his back on Castiel and faced Dean, mouthing the words 'talk to him' with an irritating parental look.

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped him the finger.  
"See ya, Cas," Sam said on the way out.

"Goodbye, Sam," replied the angel in his deep, monotone voice.

The urge to throw up grew tenfold having been left alone with the cause of his pain, so the only logical thing he knew to do was pour more whiskey on it. He felt blue eyes on him in that perfect inhuman silence. Sometimes he noticed Castiel forgot to make it look like he was breathing since, Dean assumed, angels never needed oxygen. He swallowed more booze, hardly feeling the burn anymore, and looked up to see that he was, in fact, being watched by unreadable eyes.

"What?" he barked.

"Dean, you're consuming more alcohol than you were before…" He let the observation trail.

"Can you blame me?"

Castiel clicked off the motel television and stared at the remote control in his hands. Damn it. It wasn't fair the way Dean felt the urge to go comfort him when he was the one who gave up and left him alone.

"You have to forgive me sometime, Dean," he said quietly.

Whiskey boldness blurred Dean's mouth. "Do I? Why?"

The wounded shade in the angel's eyes hit Dean too hard and he wondered exactly what celestial beings could feel. Pissed, he slammed the glass on the table and strode across the room, perching on the edge of the bed. At least he faced more or less away from Castiel, who's legs stretched out behind him with his back against the headboard. He allowed himself to be physically closer without actually looking at the angel. Instead, he focused on his feet planted wide apart on the floor. Somehow sitting with his legs wide open made him feel more like a man rather than a sap pathetically in love. Turning it into anger felt safer. He started inventing reasons to stay angry and not forgive, ticking them off one by one in his mind.

"You couldn't save me. I needed to save you, Dean," Castiel said after a period of silence. "And I had to do my penance. We talked about this already. I thought you understood."

"Well, I don't," Dean's voice growled. "Penance. Says who?"

"Me," the angel said simply, in the smallest voice.

He pressed his lips firmly together to keep from crying like a sissy, or barfing, or both. "Did you fuck with my memory, Cas?"

"No." The denial sounded firm. "I suspect you did that to yourself."

"Are you fucking joking?"

"This is not a humorous situation, Dean."

"No shit, Sherlock."

A heavy breath filled Dean's lungs but did little to temper the way he felt the world spiraling out of control. Not even the booze helped anymore. If he altered his own memory, then the trauma of what really happened - Castiel shoving Dean into the doorway and yelling, "Go!" - was too much for him to bear. Even in the worst situations with Sam, their sacrifices for one another never traumatized him enough to alter his own memory of it. With Castiel, he took the guilt into himself. He made himself believe it was his fault that he couldn't pull the angel out of Purgatory. The idea of Castiel choosing to be left behind, to push Dean into living without him, was too much. He wished he never knew the truth. Guilt was somehow easier to bear than knowing Castiel punished himself by giving up their bond.

"Dean, the last thing I intended to do with my life was ensure your safety. I never told you I intended to remain behind because I knew you wouldn't have listened. There was a chance you might have given up and refused to go." He paused as if to let it process in Dean's foggy mind. "I spent months trying to stay one step ahead of those creatures to keep them away from you. As long as you were looking for me, you weren't going to quit. You didn't belong there. And when the doorway closed, I knew I finally did something right for you. I gave you another chance to live the life that I very nearly destroyed. Everything I did in Purgatory was for you. You couldn't save me because I didn't deserve to be saved. This guilt you're carrying - you need to let it go. I don't hold you responsible for my decisions. If I did, you would not have been the only person I wanted to find when I woke up on the side of the road."

No words came to Dean that made any sense. Castiel had told him the same things earlier in the day and apparently recounted his reasons with patience as many times as Dean needed. The fact was he couldn't change a second of what happened. Maybe that tormented him more than anything. If Castiel had voiced his thoughts in Purgatory, Dean knew he would have been able to talk him off the ledge. And maybe Castiel knew that too.

"Dean, I didn't like concealing it from you. It hurt me too."

A burst of rage erupted from Dean's mouth and he whipped around, looking at Castiel. "Do you even feel pain, you son of a bitch?"

"Yes," replied Castiel as he averted his eyes. "When it comes to you, yes."

Dean leaned forward, suddenly rather defeated, and rubbed his eyes. Wetness collected on his fingertips but he refused to show that kind of emotion. Sam was the only one who ever saw him cry. And then they cracked chick flick jokes afterward to mask the reality of whatever made him feel so bad. There was no masking this though. The angel broke him down brick by brick every time they separated, whether by choice or by force. Knowing he definitely felt pain too, something so unnatural for his species, broke Dean in a way that he couldn't articulate. Silent, he rubbed his eyes as if relieving stress rather than wiping tears. They were angry tears, exhausted even, and simply sick of fighting what he felt.

Pressure on his forearm pulled his attention. He looked down and found Castiel's long fingers gripped around his wrist in an awkward attempt at comforting him. Although Dean still couldn't make eye contact, he felt his defenses falling away, and he squeezed a slow, desperate grip on the sleeve of the trench coat. Then he found it impossible to let go, as if Castiel might disappear again at any second.

"Dean."

"Shut up, Cas."

Dean twisted around and grabbed fistfuls of the trench coat until he unknowingly pulled Castiel into a crushing embrace. An arm latched around his shoulders and the other around his waist smashed him close the way he'd grabbed him last in Purgatory. There in the motel room, though, he didn't let him go. He couldn't. His face sank into Castiel's shoulder and slid to the crook of his neck of its own accord. Castiel stiffened at first just the way he had in Purgatory. In moments, Dean felt awkward hands sliding along his biceps and, slowly, blessedly, he felt the comfort of Castiel's arms around his back. He squeezed tighter and the angel matched the intensity of his embrace. Dean shut his eyes, fighting the flood of relief threatening more obvious tears. He didn't know exactly how tired of fighting he was until his body let go and relaxed against the angel.

"Dean," Castiel said again. His voice went softer that time as if speaking a term of endearment.

Without letting go, though his arms loosened, Dean reluctantly pulled back. His eyes met Castiel's - really looking into him, not just at him - for the first time since he returned.

Maybe it was the whiskey swimming through his system or maybe it was the way Castiel felt so close, but Dean realized his mouth drifted closer and closer to those full lips. The last second before their lips touched filled Dean with doubt and surrender all at once. The fight just couldn't last any longer. It took so much more energy to swallow down the way he felt than it did just to let it exist naturally. Hesitant kisses plucked at Castiel's lips one by one, allowing him to refuse if he chose. Although he didn't reject Dean, he didn't seem to kiss back either. Panic seeped in like the worst kind of tingle in his stomach.

"Cas?" he nearly gulped.

The angel stared at him through parted lips and wide eyes. Fear didn't appear to be part of it. Not so much as fearful rejection but fearful inexperience and uncertainty.

"You're certain, Dean?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, I am," he heard himself say without the slightest hesitation. It surprised him how much conviction came to his voice. The wall crumbled and he gave in to it. "What about you?"

"It's complicated." Lines fanned across Castiel's forehead as if going through a deep conflict. "I am certain of how I feel. I have been certain for years."

Dean's face slid into a glimpse of despair. He didn't want Castiel to see him so wounded by rejection.

When Castiel continued, he spoke secretly. A whisper. Dean had never heard him whisper and found it both worrisome and wickedly intimate. "Love between a human and an angel is forbidden. We cannot be so close to our human charges. It's an abomination to mate and if we were caught, you could be killed. So could I."

Nodding solemnly, Dean tried to withdraw from Castiel's arms but he felt resistance. Angel strength gripped him tight. Confused, his eyebrows knitted together.

"I got too close to you but I can't walk away now. If I have to choose between being with you and getting killed for it, and walking away and living on for thousands of more years, I choose you. I always choose you, Dean, even when you think I'm against you and even when I don't feel your faith in me. If you choose me, you give me your full faith and love without holding back. It's the only way we have a chance because we're going to be hunted when Heaven and Hell find out." The blue in his eyes intensified. Faint light filled them as if his true form tried to reveal itself to Dean.

"Hell, Cas, half the country would say we're an abomination too."

Castiel's head tilted.

"You know … two dudes."

The angel's face went subtly sour and he waved a dismissive hand. "Dean, I have no gender."

"But your vessel does and half the country will see us as a couple of queers," he reiterated. "I'm just saying. Your kind sees us as an abomination but so does my kind. I'll be damned if I let that stop me. When do I ever cave to assholes once I've made up my mind?"

Being an abomination didn't scare Dean so much as the requirement of giving all of his faith and love to one other being. Whether it was a human woman, man, or junkless angel, giving himself over to another being was never in the cards. He stared at Castiel as he worked through his fears. And so his own choices fell on his head. Walk away from Castiel and pour whiskey on it for the rest of his life until he dies of liver failure, or give himself over to an abomination and risk getting both of them killed for it.

"If we're goin' down, we're goin' down swingin'," he said with emotion hitched in his throat. "I said it before. I'd rather have you, Cas, cursed or not. I'm gonna try that faith and love thing. You know it isn't easy for me."

"I know," Castiel replied with a hint of a smile.

Dean felt like he needed to do something to prove what he said. He looked around the seedy motel room but everything he owned fit into a duffle bag. It all seemed inadequate until his eye fell on the silver ring on his right hand. He'd been wearing the ring for as long as he could remember. It was as much part of his identity as the amulet he used to wear around his neck had been at one time. He pulled the ring off, though it resisted having been there so long, and he grabbed Castiel's right hand.

"Here. Now you gotta stay around because this is mine and I want it back sometime," he said as he pushed the ring onto the angel's third finger. "I wouldn't let you take care of it if I didn't have faith in you."

Castiel watched him in silence without giving away what he thought of it. He touched the ring under his thumb and turned his hand over as if studying the gift down to its atoms and molecules. It wasn't a particularly valuable piece of metal but Dean hoped he understood the difficulty in giving away possessions when so few possessions existed anymore.

Finally, Castiel met his eyes. "Thank you, Dean. I will protect it."

"Protect yourself. That's more important." He struggled to push the words out of his mouth and even heard his internal voice taunting him for being touchy-feely. If they were going to do this and be hunted for it, he owed it to Castiel to jump in with both feet. "I need you." It wasn't 'I love you' but it meant the same thing to Dean, a man who never needed anyone except his brother, and now his angel.

He leaned into Castiel, more sure of himself that time, and Castiel leaned into him. Dean's palm drifted along his coarse stubble as they kissed. Uncertain and awkward at first, they felt out the new experience together until the kiss melted into a single entity and they could no longer tell where one man ended and the other began. His eyes closed tightly and he trusted that it was the right thing. No longer exhausted by fighting it, he surrendered to the angel, and he swore he felt the angel's body become compliant and soft in his own surrender. They both had been fighting for so long. The relief that came over them felt nearly as good as kissing at all.

Minutes passed before Dean pulled away with swollen tingling lips. He hovered in the moment and pressed his forehead to Castiel's as the angel mimicked the way he stroked his face. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, Dean's eyes fluttered open again. Castiel smiled softly, a sight rather foreign to both of them, but Dean hardly focused on it before shadows surrounded him.

Shadows?

Stomach dropping with alertness, he sat straight up and jumped off the bed as the sight registered in his mind. Angel wings. God damn wings, black as ink but purple and blue too in the dim motel light, as if made of liquid color and blackness all at once. Clear as crystal, Dean saw them and even blinked to find out if it was another hallucination. Each one looked both taller and wider than him, spread haphazardly on the bed, draping to the floor, just as mussed and careless as Castiel's body looked. The sight of it terrified and mesmerized him at the same time. He swallowed back his heart and noticed his hands shook. It couldn't have been more than a second after he vaulted off the bed but his brain computing what he saw made it seem like hours.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Castiel pressed with innocent blue eyes.

"You … I see … I …" Words failed him. Attention focused on exactly how the wings jutted from the angel's back, up over his head, formed a joint almost like bird wings, and spilled downward in glorious, long feathers.

All too abruptly, Castiel's legs swung to the floor and he sat upright at attention. The wings drew inward to his body as if consumed by self-consciousness and worry. He couldn't possibly hide the massive things behind his back but it seemed like he certainly tried.

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean spun around in a full circle, half-convinced a spell was put on him that made him see things as a supernatural creature would without the filters of the human eye. Goosebumps arose the way his body went into fight mode, ready to gank whatever witch did this to him.

But nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just Castiel's fucking wings unrolled all over the bed. He swallowed hard and stared.

"You see them, don't you?" muttered the angel.

Uncomfortable - even bashful - Castiel's eyes darted back and forth as his hand nervously rubbed the back of his neck, just the way he'd reacted when Dean had probed him about being a virgin. Dean wondered if a human seeing angel wings was like accidentally walking in on someone undressed. It certainly looked to him like Castiel was busted naked despite being in his usual ill-fitting suit.

"I had heard it was possible but I never actually believed it," Castiel continued, somewhat to himself and somewhat to Dean.

"Okay…" Breathing evenly, Dean forced his heart to slow and shock to recede. His hand shook, but he approached and carefully sat beside the angel again, certainly careful not to sit on misplaced feathers.

Unconsciously in Castiel, the wing closest to Dean swooped to the side and made room for him.

The hunter's mind took hold. "What are we talking about here?"

"It is written," said Castiel in a voice reserved for tradition, "that the purest love and self-sacrifice between an angel and a human will open the veil separating them. This was before such unions produced the Nephilim who nearly destroyed the earth. Gabriel was sent by God to incite civil war among the Nephilim so they would eradicate each other. Afterward, all love between angels and humans was forbidden. Such unions became abominations." He glanced over at Dean. "But just because Heaven calls it an abomination doesn't mean it can't happen. Free will. You taught me that."

It all tangled up in Dean's mind. "Hold on. Hold on. Lemme get this straight. Nephilim are hybrid babies. Human and angel."

"Yes." Castiel nodded.

"And they went crazy and tried to eat everybody," he added.

"In a manner of speaking."

This was the part that made him want to laugh. "So God's up there watching all this angel-human love and He sends Gabriel down to fix it? The trickster?"

"Gabriel was the Messenger of God," he replied in a most serious tone. "Read your Bible, Dean. Some of it is correct."

He chose to ignore the remark and redirected things. "You're saying, then, because I stopped pushing you away or fighting this or whatever, this … veil … keeping me from seeing you has gone away." He noticed one of the wings fluff in response but he tried not to stare like an idiot. This shit was going to take some getting used to. "Is it permanent? Like, all the time?"

Castiel seemed so calm about it. He nodded. "You are the only human who has and will ever see my wings. It is also written that an angel will only know the love of one human in its existence."

"And you got stuck with me," said Dean in a low, somewhat self-loathing tone. His eye drifted to the whiskey bottle across the room.

"I wanted you," the angel said as if Dean should have known better.

Fingers laced through Dean's hand resting on his thigh. He looked down at their entwined hands, at how easily they fit together, similar in size and equally matched. Black shapes moved languidly around the edges of his vision. He wondered if they were solid or ghostly, whether a human hand would pass straight through the feathers like passing through a cloud, or if they were soft like a bird. With those black wings and such dark hair, he thought Castiel resembled a humanoid rendering of a raven. Nothing actually prepared him for their size. If he unfurled those wings completely, he estimated they'd be twenty feet wide. This was definitely going to take some time to understand. Maybe more whiskey.

"Twenty-two and a half, actually," Castiel said.

Yes, definitely more whiskey. Dean's face whipped around and he scowled. "What have I told you about being in my head?"

"Faith, Dean," he said simply.

A moment passed. Rustling feathers curled behind them and wrapped around Dean's back. The weight of the wing - not just feathers but flesh and inconceivably strong muscle - settled around Dean's back, around his hips, and across his lap. Still so much hung over that the wing covered his legs and curled outward a few feet onto the floor. It felt like another man coiled around him, yet the warmth, softness, strength, and even pleasant humming felt rather inviting.

"Go ahead," offered Castiel.

"What?"

"You want to touch."

Dean's face went hot. Why the hell was he embarrassed? It was just a wing. It wasn't like Castiel invited him to touch his…

"It is an intimate act. You're not wrong." The angel's words sliced through his mind. "I wouldn't let Sam touch my wings, if he could see them. I wouldn't let any other human. I don't know if I can explain it properly but it is intimate. Not sexual." He seemed amused by that. "Only human males hear the word intimacy and equate it to the act of mating."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Stay out of my head for a minute, will ya?"

Castiel's face smoothed into compliance as Dean worked up the nerve to touch the wing wrapped around him. They looked like two people sharing the same freaky blanket. He wondered what the hell his life came to at that point. Seeing the wings made it all too real for him that he'd fallen in love with a creature beyond his own species. It must have been some kind of poetic justice. Spend your life hunting things in the family business and then become the hunted one for making a claim on one of them. It reminded him of Stockholm Syndrome until he realized he was just trying to talk himself out of it again. He wanted Castiel and Castiel wanted him. He ordered himself to get used to the new trajectory of his life.

A hand flattened against the wing draped over his legs. He didn't know what he expected as he skimmed a hand along the grain of the feathers, and then followed the same path with his other hand. No words fit with the sensations of silk, fire, water, and tingly air all at once, yet all very solid muscle beneath the feathers. His hands left metallic bluish-purple streaks along the blackness, yet nothing rubbed off on his palms. It appeared like liquid light and faded to black again. Castiel lightly gasped and shifted, though he seemed to try and stifle it.

Dean looked at him questioningly. "Oh, you feel this?"

"Do you feel your arms or legs, Dean?" The hint of sarcasm in Castiel's voice strained against something more intimate than Dean might have guessed.

"Hmm."

Dean tested the theory. He watched Castiel's eyes carefully as he lazily stroked a long path down the wing. The angel's eyes squinted slightly and his lips pressed together. Most tellingly, he avoided Dean's eyes and avoided Dean's hands on his own wing.

His voice dropped to the most nonthreatening tone he could muster for the sake of getting the truth. "It feels good to you, doesn't it? Like a massage or something more?"

Castiel's eyes passed quickly, nervously over Dean. "I … yes, I suppose … I don't know. Nobody …"

"You never let anybody touch you."

"I never had the opportunity." Mild defenses rose in his voice.

Feeling bolder, Dean explored more of the heavenly raven wing. The more he touched Castiel, the more an unusually warm humming sensation spread through his hands to the rest of his body. As addicting as it felt, he oddly couldn't describe the pleasure as sexual. Dean Winchester had only defined 'pleasure' as when he had sex or 'pain' as the rest of his life. This - this was different.

It took more effort than he expected to turn over the lower half of the wing in his hands. The nerdy angel was apparently built like a rock of muscle, at least in those wings. He would never have guessed. Part of him became intimidated by the idea of what his true form must have looked like if his wings were cut like an angelic bodybuilder. It didn't seem to fit with his vessel, but yet, it kind of did too. He couldn't explain it. Hands roamed all over the wing, all too aware of Castiel's quick, shallow breathing.

Suddenly, Dean's hand dropped off into raw flesh and Castiel winced loudly. He glanced at the angel and then lifted the underside of the wing to find a red, irritated patch of meat stripped of feathers. The wound spanned both of Dean's hands but he didn't dare touch it. Hot blood jolted through him - both rage and the most intense need to protect.

"What the hell is this?"

Blue eyes dulled into a mildly grayer shade, like a soldier reliving combat. "Fighting in Purgatory." The opposite wing lifted off the bed and displayed a puncture wound. Bluish-white light seeped out of it and stung Dean's eyes but he refused to show discomfort. "As you might say, you should have seen the other guy. I'm healing. He's not."

"Jesus," breathed Dean.

"No. A werewolf. My heart is quite appetizing to them." Castiel's wings both turned the wounds away, clearly not wanting to frighten Dean, and he stared for a long moment.

It baffled Dean that he let himself suffer. "You can't just zap and heal yourself?"

"I could," he admitted.

"Penance." It dawned on Dean that he was letting himself heal slowly to feel the pain as if it might cleanse him of everything for which he blamed himself. "You don't need to let yourself suffer, Cas. I can't talk you out of it."

"No, you can't, Dean," he said without hesitation.

Old hypersensitive alertness rose up in Dean from his own time in Purgatory, but thinking of it after brief moments of tranquility with Castiel made it all the more repugnant.

"As soon as you're healed, it stops. The guilt we're carrying around over the things we did in that place. It's gonna eat us alive if we don't try to put it behind us. So you stop punishing yourself. You've done enough penance." He searched Castiel's face. "You read me?"

"I read you." He let silence fall for a time but then made his own point. "But you have to forgive yourself for not pulling me out with you, Dean."

"I'll try," he conceded.

A hand caressed a wing as both hoped to ground themselves in the here and now. Castiel visibly relaxed beside him. As much as Dean would never admit it to anyone else, the intimacy of touching, stroking, and caressing the angel's wing brought him a sense of peace. He needed to hold onto that.

The angel lightly bit his vessel's lip and his eyes drifted into a sort of hazy expression. Again, Dean wondered if this was more than just intimacy for him. When he knew Castiel wasn't looking, his hand hardened and his fingers scratched along the wing, mimicking the exact way a lover scratched another lover in the most intense peaks of sex. He wanted to know what would happen or if the angel even understood the difference between intimacy and needing a good lay. If Castiel wasn't turned on, he would react as if it was painful. If he was turned on…

Castiel moaned - a stifled, hesitant, drawn out thing as if he felt wrong about it but couldn't control it. Smugly satisfied with himself, Dean smirked and abandoned the wing for his thigh. He squeezed the inner muscle as he leaned over and wetly mouthed along Castiel's neck. Only vague awareness of coming on to a man occurred to Dean but it felt natural. It was just Cas, not some random dude.

"Dean…" Castiel breathed, clearly overwhelmed.

The overwhelmed tone brought Dean back to Earth just enough to remind himself that he was dealing with an unprecedented level of inexperience. Just as he resolved to verbalize that he would take it slow, a quick whoosh of air landed Dean on his back with Castiel poised above him. Wings closed in around him, shielding them both almost entirely, and their fingers curled into each other's hair as they kissed with abandon.

At that moment, Sam Winchester inexplicably snagged in a traffic jam that came out of nowhere. Inexplicable to everyone, that is, except Castiel the angel with raven wings and a human to call his own.


	2. Before Time Runs Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns after several days of watching Fred Jones at the old folks home and Dean is overjoyed to see him. The last time they were together, they finally confessed their feelings for one another and promised to fight together once Heaven and Hell begin hunting them. An angel and a human falling in love is an abomination punishable by death. But once Dean stops fighting what he feels, the veil between them is lifted, and he becomes the only human who can see and touch Castiel's wings. Now that he's back, the only thing he wants to do is touch him and be alone with him. Castiel has his own plans and entrances Dean by touching him with his grace. Dean realizes he's being branded but it feels so amazing that he doesn't care. They cross a line of no return and they know it's only a matter of time before Heaven and Hell hunt them.

"You're being a bigger asshole than normal. Dial it back a notch before I deck you," Sam grumbled as he climbed out of the Impala with an armful of fast food.

"Shut your cake hole and eat so I can go to bed." He just wanted the night to be over. They didn't even have a new case to occupy him yet.

Sam rolled his eyes and searched his pockets for the room key while Dean crammed a new supply of whiskey bottles under his arm.

The truth was Dean knew exactly why his mood went sour fast and he suspected Sam knew why too. Nobody actually said anything but he felt like everyone he encountered knew the truth. A week ago, Castiel and Dean finally stopped fighting their feelings for each other. They even messed around while Sam was out picking up dinner. They hadn't actually had sex, though it was close. Dean had never touched a man like that in his life. He just didn't know enough about it to let it happen yet, no matter how the angel had offered it in every imaginable way. Castiel had barely kissed another person before that night but he was more eager than Dean anticipated. It seemed wrong to rush him into it even if it was written that only one human could truly love an angel in its existence.

But when Castiel stayed behind with Fred Jones at the old folks home to be sure he was okay after their last case, Dean felt unsettled and short-tempered. The first day was the hardest. He flipped channels mindlessly but ended up seeing a hundred different things that Castiel would have wanted to watch. Dean missed everything about him and found that sensation entirely foreign. Being so occupied by emotion made him feel vulnerable to attack. He reminded himself that they weren't allowed to hold back, though, and he fought tooth and nail to stop his walls from going back up just because it all felt like so much change.

He hadn't even worked that hard for Lisa. Castiel was worth it though. Being the only human he ever wanted was worth it too, and so was the unexpected intimacy of always being able to see and touch his wings when they were together.

Sam probably knew, he decided yesterday at a greasy diner over eggs and bacon. Sometimes he stared Dean down from the corner of his eye and commented that Castiel would be back any day now. A grunt and a nod answered him, but he never could bring himself to tell his brother the truth. Maybe he didn't need to say it. He'd become all of those people he hated - people unable to function without their lover. Once during the night, he considered that it wasn't really him but some spell by a witch. It was easier to accept ganking some monster than accepting that someone crawled into his heart and refused to vacate.

"Might be a lead in Colorado," Sam offered conversationally. "Couple of kids mysteriously grew up overnight. Like went from child to adult. Could be a crossroads demon making underage deals."

"Could be." Killing a good old crossroads demon felt damn near therapeutic at this point, Dean decided.

They sat at the table in an awful, brightly decorated motel room with burgers and fries. It all looked too hopeful and cheery in the damn room, which turned Dean even more surly. He stuffed a fistful of fries in his mouth and wiped a streak of ketchup from his cheek. The football game Sam found on television lightened his mood just enough to want a drink.

"Who's playing?"

"Patriots and Falcons." Flopping on one of the beds with his food, Sam set up a picnic for himself.

"No contest. Patriots." Just like that, brief interest in something aside from moping like a girl waned into nothing. He chased a ripped bite of cheeseburger with the burning comfort of whiskey crawling down his throat.

"Hello, Sam." A pause. "Hello, Dean."

Four long limbs flung outward like Sam suddenly became an octopus as he tried to save himself from falling off the bed in fright. Dean leaped out of his chair so hard that it bounced off the wall, not that he even heard it. There stood Cas between Sam's bed and the dresser, his wings folding back from a flight position. It stunned Dean to see that moment of wings spread across the ceiling until they receded behind him.

He smiled like an idiot. Fuck it. He didn't care.

"Jesus, Cas, I almost choked on my burger." Sam wiped his face, oblivious to Dean and Castiel smiling at each other.

"I would have resuscitated you, Sam," he remarked nonchalantly.

"Good to know." The younger Winchester grabbed the remainder of his burger and folded himself into the chair opposite Dean. Only then did he notice the dreamy sort of joyful haze over the older Winchester's smile and his own eyes squinted in confusion.

"How's Fred?" Dean asked, ignoring his brother.

"He will no longer be able to bend reality with his mind. He's safe." The way he reported on the old man sounded like the old mechanical Castiel, which both comforted and worried Dean. Black raven wings shifted upward the way human shoulders did when conveying a subtle shrug.

"Good," said Dean.

"Good," Castiel parroted.

Sam's head darted between the two like watching a tennis match. His eyebrows eventually wrinkled into wavy lines as he clearly tried to grasp the heavy silence in the motel room.

A slow, half-smile yanked on Dean's mouth against his will. He actually felt fucking butterflies with Castiel there again. If he wasn't certain it would have sent Sam screaming from the room, he would have grabbed up the angel in a tight hug. This thing - _feeling_ stuff - it left Dean rather exposed as if everyone within a five mile radius just knew he was in love with this guy. Moments of panic threatened to make him cover it in a blanket of sarcasm, but he fought himself on it. They had to stay open if they were going to survive.

His tongue nervously slid over his lip. "You gonna stay a while?"

"Yes." Castiel was a man of few words but the words pleased Dean.

Realizing he stood with a straight spine and clenched fists, Dean told himself to relax now that he knew Castiel intended to stay. He turned his chair upright again and sank into it. Even the cheeseburger tasted better then.

"Oh, Cas," he said with a mouthful, "that thing you wanted to watch with the Arctic sea life is on tonight. Saw the commercial on Discovery."

The angel offered a faint smile. "I hoped I wouldn't miss it."

He turned to Dean's bed, clearly knowing which it was without asking, and Dean watched in complete fascination as he moved through the room with those wings. Television lights cast a metallic blue glow against the black feathers. They rustled as they swooped and separated over the expanse of the bed, allowing him to sit comfortably against the headboard. Of course, Dean saw and heard all of the movements unconscious to Castiel, but he still glanced at his brother in search of any sign that he perceived the wings too. Sam seemed more interested in the way Castiel flipped channels by blinking his eyes rather than seeing any extra black appendages. Dean really was the only one allowed to see the wings.

"Okay, what the hell am I missing here?" Sam piped out as if he'd been wanting to ask for days but never tried.

Both Dean and Castiel looked at Sam in unison almost like being busted by Dad.

"Sam, I have entered into an amorous bond with Dean. You may expect to see evidence of the alteration in our bond from time to time," explained Castiel in the simplest manner without the very human consideration for discretion.

Still, panic filled Dean's veins like lava. "Cas!" he spat through clenched teeth.

The angel had no conception that his blunt manner shocked anyone. His bright blue eyes slid from Sam to Dean. "What?" he said in an overly obvious tone.

"What?" Sam also said, but in a completely different tone of disbelief. Speechless, his brows lifted and lowered as it processed in his mind, making him look like a puppy learning new commands. He looked at Dean. "You're into dick now?"

"Recycling jokes, Sammy? Really?" Dean snapped with reflexive insulting gravel in his voice. He felt too exposed. Way too exposed. He avoided Sam's eye and sputtered. "Cas is different. You don't get it. Shut up. Don't look at me." He grabbed his glass and downed all the whiskey in one shot.

"Garth owes me so much money right now," Sam cackled. He noticed Dean's scowl and cackled even more. "Everybody's been betting on it for a year. Demons, angels, humans - I think everybody knew except you, Dean."

"Whatever, man. I don't wanna talk about it." He thought Sam should have known better. When did he ever want to talk about his relationships, even when he was nailing chicks? Now with Castiel, he really didn't want to talk about it. If too many people knew, it meant Heaven and Hell would be on their asses faster. His tone shifted. "Sam, this stays between us. People can't know about it."

The younger brother rolled his eyes and scoffed. "It's no big deal. Most people don't give a crap if guys go out with guys. Relax."

"I'm serious, Sammy. It's not about being gay - I'm not - but it's not about that. Just trust me. You can't talk about it."

Castiel, who appeared to have not been paying any attention, added his thoughts without looking away from the television. "We are breaking Heaven's law, Sam. The longer we keep this secret, the longer we have to live in peace. We will be hunted. That can't be avoided. All we can do is try to delay the hunt." He glanced at Dean once his Arctic sea life program went to commercial.

"Way to sugarcoat it, Cas," Dean muttered.

"It's better that he understands now," replied Castiel in a gentler tone.

"I got it," Sam promised. "Hey, we're Winchesters. If something isn't after us, then we're doing something wrong, you know?" He shrugged and half-smiled at them. "Just be happy. Whatever comes … I mean, we always figure it out."

"Thanks, Sammy." It actually brought some relaxation to Dean's limbs and he leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, no problem." The younger brother stood and grabbed his things. "Be happy and all, but I'm getting my own room. I don't need to see the cuddling and all the couple-y shit." He flashed a smile, tucking his laptop under his arm. "Night, guys."

"Good night, Sam." Penguins darted through the ocean and jumped on icebergs. Castiel seemed too engrossed to care that Sam made a hasty exit.

Maybe Dean should have stopped his brother from wasting money on another room, but the truth was, he wanted that alone time with the angel. He craved it. Time pressed on his chest as if knowing by some intuitive means that things wouldn't always be this easy. He expected the dicks with wings to drop through the ceiling at any minute, really. The last mouthful of whiskey rolled down his throat and he absently decided to try and not drink so much with Castiel. It didn't seem respectful.

He left the last quarter of his cheeseburger untouched and fries growing soggy in the ketchup puddle, much more interested in the angel. Things still felt awkward for him but he soldiered ahead. He wondered if Castiel knew how hard it was for him to do this relationship thing. The effort alone was worthy of note.

Dean sat stiffly on the edge of the bed beside Castiel, pointed toward the television. A family of polar bears lumbered across the screen as the narrator described what they ate on a daily basis. It was so easy for them, he thought. They didn't even speak a language and they managed to have families that weren't hunted by demons or angels or a litany of other monsters.

Abruptly, Castiel's wing lifted from his side and shoved against his body, effortlessly pushing him down over his chest. It wasn't aggressive but it stunned Dean that he could so easily be overpowered by one wing.

"Hello, Dean." Was there laughter in his voice?

The hunter lifted his head and looked up at the angel, who, in fact, smirked as if giving in to a human relationship brought out glimpses of humanity in him. Humor shook the nerves out of the room, though, and he smiled with one of his bulky arms latched around Castiel's waist. He didn't get up, not that he could with the weight of a black wing lazily slung over his back. It might have been weird to anyone else but Dean slowly realized that the wings were simply Castiel, not their own entity. It felt no less pleasing than his arm around his shoulders in a dark movie theater or parked over a bluff in the Impala.

The other arm folded over the angel's chest and he braced his chin there, staring up at blue eyes made bluer in the television's reflection. Castiel's fingers passed through Dean's hair, leaving tingles along his scalp. His eyes drooped shut as he enjoyed the sensation. Slow fingertips traced his forehead, around his temple, followed his cheekbone, and slipped across his lower lip. The tingles intensified as if a limb had been asleep, but instead of waking painfully, he awoke in the warmest sensations edging on an erotic ache.

"What are you doing to me?" Dean whispered.

The large palm slipped over his jaw and the pad of his thumb caressed his cheekbone. Deliberate and languid, the motions sent bolts along Dean's spine - faint at first but strengthening until a touch of his cheek felt like a touch sent to his groin.

"Cas?" His breath shuddered in spite of trying to remain cool.

Eventually, Castiel's whisper replied, "I'm touching you with my grace."

Dean's eyes flashed open. "Your grace feels like _that_?"

"Yes and no." The angel's full mouth turned to the side, amused. "A human feels what they want in grace. If you're threatened, my grace will be more painful than you can imagine. If it's love you feel, then it's love you'll receive." His face smoothed into an affectionate smile. "Now I know what you feel at this moment."

"You could have just asked instead of using your grace like a mood ring." He felt flares of anger but they died quickly. Maybe anger was just a habit rather than a true emotion.

"Dean, I would ask if I thought you'd tell the truth," replied the angel patiently. "I know you're still afraid to consummate this with me. I know you've been trying to talk yourself into it. You're afraid of what it means to feel physical attraction to my vessel's gender."

No response came from Dean. He rolled his face to the side, his ear against Castiel's heart. The wing pulled higher on his shoulders as if offering a comforting embrace and a place to hide. He understood that Castiel wasn't passing judgment and he certainly wasn't forcing the issue. His intention was simply to reveal Dean's emotional pull to him and that it would have happened whether he had taken a male or female vessel. In the end, his manhood remained in tact whether he walked down the street making out with Castiel or not. Who or what he loved didn't define his masculinity. Logic told him these things, of course, but it was going to take time to undo years of being his father's perfect little soldier.

"Remember your vow to remain open and not to hold back with me," he said after a time. "You may fight what you want now but it won't go away. It never goes away when there is love, Dean. Your willpower is like a rock but I barely grazed your skin with my grace and I saw what happened. You felt what happened. Love and the act of love was given to angels and humans alike as a gift, not a thing of shame or a thing to be wasted. You and I - we don't know how much time we have together. I don't want you to regret anything out of misguided fear."

"You sound like a prom date," Dean mumbled into his chest, shifting his voice lower as if doing an impression. "‘Hey baby, if you love me, you'll do it.'"

"I don't understand that reference, Dean."

Laughing softly, the hunter raised up and brought his lips to a warm, tender sort of kiss. As much of a fighter and a smart ass as he was every day, he knew he had always been more of a submissive kind of lover. He enjoyed women pushing him down and having their way with him. This time, though, Castiel needed as much guidance as he did. He had to take the lead and hack through his uncertainty like taking the ax through Purgatory's wilderness.

The television flipped off by itself. Dean realized somewhere in the back of his mind that Castiel turned off his Arctic sea life show with little more than an absent thought and shifted interests. His hands curled into Dean's short hair, scraping along the back of his scalp, and down to his neck again. Bursts of grace filled the angel's fingers and passed into Dean's brain without barrier until their pelvises began rolling and rubbing against each other as they kissed. He felt Castiel getting hard beneath him and, much to his surprise, knowing that made him painfully hard in short order.

He started to push himself upright to shed cumbersome clothing but each wing latched around him like a black shield of feathers, yanking him on top of the angel again. Castiel wasn't in any hurry, it seemed. But suddenly, as he lightly bit the angel's lip in a moment of heat, the sensation of silken, liquid, fiery feathers mixed with tingling grace resonated throughout his body. Dean looked down at their bodies and his jaw fell open at the sight of clothes completely gone. Maybe Castiel was in a hurry after all. Angel mojo had its perks, it seemed.

"I want you to know my grace, Dean, and my grace alone," said Castiel as he grabbed Dean by the wrist and rolled him on his back. Something in his voice sounded territorial.

Dean said nothing. He couldn't. He watched Castiel rise to his knees over him, bare flesh in the motel light with shining, inky black wings hulking over his shoulders down past the edges of the bed. As the angel leaned over him, Dean observed his blue eyes begin to glow like embers just heating into fire. Liquid light within each raven feather grew in luminescence as if his grace might seep out of every part of him. Nothing ever looked so intimidating and beautiful to Dean. The momentary flash of fear quelled with Castiel's hand splayed across his chest. Glowing ocean blue eyes looked at him in questioning silence. Dean nodded.

The angel's iron grip latched Dean's wrist and lifted it to his lips as if unleashing his grace made him unable to control his inhuman strength. Dean nearly protested but Castiel's mouth opened enough to allow bluish-white light, both liquid and smoke, to seep past his lips. A jolt of pleasure in its rawest, unbound form bled into the hypersensitive skin of the inner wrist. As soon as he received the aching pleasure, the touch of grace dissipated into the air. Only a faint glimmer of light on Dean's skin remained as if being marked by angelic bites.

Along his arm, Castiel left a trail of grace bites, each more intense than the last. He seemed to start slow, building Dean's endurance, marking him at the wrist, the bend in his elbow, his shoulder, across his chest, and down along the other arm.

Soon Dean couldn't take it and ragged gasping evolved into stifled moans, still somewhat shy about Castiel seeing him in such an exposed state. No surprise, the angel seemed to feel that rise of self-consciousness and turned to the crook of Dean's neck to eradicate the last of his hesitation. Wet, impossibly soft lips mouthed and sucked at the length of his throat, and then he felt the grace marking his swollen skin. The coarse texture of Castiel's stubble combined with the soft plumpness of his lips heightened Dean's senses. Loudly, he groaned and arched his spine, desperate for more.

As the last of his hesitated swallowed away in Castiel's grace, Dean fingers pulled in almost a clawing motion at his shoulders. He reached up and raked a hand through one of the iridescent wings. A sudden spasm tightened Castiel's body and his spine curled, head turning upward as if it sent him unexpectedly veering too close to the edge of explosion. His breath went ragged like Dean's for several long moments until he brought himself down from it.

Purpose renewed, the angel shifted, leaving a trail of grace down the center of Dean's wide, solid chest. Dean tangled a hand in Castiel's hair as he moved down over his abdominal muscles, occasionally interrupting bites of grace with nips and kisses from his mouth.

"Cas," moaned Dean, the end of the word trailing away into the room.

His hips lifted off the bed of their own accord, searching for anything to touch his cock. The need never consumed him so strongly before, and he knew if Castiel didn't jerk him or suck him, he was going to do it himself out of desperation for relief. His hand moved downward until Castiel swatted it away. An inhuman grasp pinned his hips down like being grabbed by a steel vice. Dean looked down at himself just as Castiel's head bent, spilling a glowing measure of grace from his lips along the entire agitated length of his swollen cock. His hips tried to buck in the torturous ache pushing him way too close to coming all over his own stomach. The angel hovered over the head of his cock, leaving another faint luminous bite of grace.

The room blurred but Castiel wouldn't let him come. Before he knew it, the angel's mouth covered his in a plunging kiss, having learned exactly how to slide his tongue along all the right places. And then Dean felt the tingling heat of grace again. Castiel lightly marked his lips, perhaps knowing Dean couldn't walk around with his lips that luminous for however long such things lasted.

"Cas," he breathed heavily against his mouth, "Cas, are you ready?"

"Yes, Dean," he whispered back.

Dean took Castiel's face in his hands and kissed him, not in the heat of sex, but in the moment of knowing he was to be the angel's first - his _only_. And in some ways, Castiel was to be _his_ first and _his_ only. They survived everything for each other and now they would survive everything with each other.

"Hold on a second," he said reassuringly.

Tugging his way out from under Castiel, he found his duffle bag across the room without bothering to look for clothes. He rifled through the bag until he found a tube discreetly bought from the drugstore a few days ago when Sam wasn't looking.

This was it. No turning back now. Dean rejoined Castiel, sliding toward him on his knees. He wasn't sure if the angel understood.

"It'll be painful without help," he said with the words of slight hesitation.

"You planned for this," Castiel surmised aloud as he watched Dean spread lube over his fingers, then more on the angel's fingers, and then leave the tube on the nightstand.

"Maybe I did." Once the decision was made, Dean dove into it without looking back.

Kisses quickly found each other, slipping back under the haze of physical sensation. He felt the great wings shift behind the angel as he pressed against Dean with the need for leadership. Dean's hand snaked between them and circled around Castiel's cock, which elicited a moan of surrender into his mouth. Sounds of pleasure and need distracted him as his hand quickened along Castiel's length, over the head, and back again, ensuring he was thoroughly coated in lube. Castiel mimicked him and sent Dean into dizzying pleasure, thoroughly going over his own cock. They could have easily continued that way, jerking each other faster and harder as they erratically kissed until they came, but Dean didn't come this far to turn away from the roller coaster now.

Dean stopped, leaving the angel nearly trembling with need for release. He pushed Castiel on his back. Of course, he could have turned him around and established control by fucking him from behind, but he wanted to remember his face for his first time.

Fearful of hurting his angel, though, he squeezed more lube on his fingers and bent over him with a promising kiss. He reached down, past his balls, and a finger slipped around his entrance. Castiel sucked in a gulp of air but the hazy cloud over his eyes meant it was pleasure rather than fear. Dean paid careful attention to the angel's reactions as he fingered him, stretching him, readying him. One finger joined by another and Castiel's eyes slipped shut as his hips began rocking with Dean's hand. A third finger sent him into ragged gasping and moaning. Slick, open, and rolling his hips with unbridled need, Dean decided he was better at this than he expected.

The second he withdrew his hand, blue eyes flashed open in the widest questioning manner. He fit his own pelvis between Castiel's legs, fitting snugly against each other's hips, and he lifted his legs enough to slide his cock inside, inch by inch. Dean shook with his own self-control. He felt his angel's wet warmth and his body wanted to take over, but he couldn't allow himself to hurt him.

A slow rhythm ensued, taking his entire length in and out, and he watched waves of pleasure wash over Castiel's face. Not only was it physical pleasure but he saw emotional pleasure fill the angel's eyes as well, not that he could begin to put it into words. Castiel's hips rolled against him and their pace quickened of its own need. Quick breaths, stifled moans, caressing hands and lips mingled both of them together until Dean wondered momentarily if they became the same entity. For a time, Castiel completely wrapped them in his great black wings, unable to let go of their bond. Anything was possible that night.

"Dean…" Castiel's dry voice chanted periodically as their bodies became more erratic.

Before long, they couldn't draw out the night anymore. Dean rapidly slammed into Castiel and they both groaned as if no one in neighboring rooms would hear them. He opened his hands through the wings in long, raking strokes as if scratching a lover's back in the heat of passion. Castiel threw his head back and cried out in such a drawn out, higher pitched moan that, especially when his body went stiff, Dean knew he was about to come. One of his hands reached between them and quickly jerked his angel's throbbing cock until white spurts shot across his stomach.

Seeing Castiel experience his first orgasm pushed Dean off the cliff. His body seized up without warning and an animal groan pushed through clenched teeth. He felt his cock twitch, jerk, and shoot his come deep inside the angel as the room spun around them. Only abstractly aware, Dean felt the silken, liquid, fiery wings slid up his back, over his shoulders and shielded him in that most private moment between lovers. Dean collapsed over his angel and the wings blanketed their entwined bodies.

As they spiraled downward from climaxes, he felt Castiel's grace emanating from his wings again. Rather than using it to entice, Dean felt its intent shift to peace. He felt Castiel in his veins, in his fucking _cells_ , and he knew whether or not they were physically together, they could never be pulled apart.

Slowly, their breathing calmed. They lingered in silence as Castiel lazily stroked Dean's body with his wings and his hands.

Dean turned his wrist over and examined the faint light of grace branded on his skin. He chuckled. "How long are these glowing love bites supposed to last?"

Both Castiel's shoulders and wings lightly shrugged. "Three or four days."

"Like hickies," mused the hunter.

"What are hickies, Dean?"

"I've got so much to teach you, Cas," he laughed.


	3. Halo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their secret is out. Dean, Castiel, and Sam are ambushed as they're packing up to leave town and it looks like angels at first until one of them - Ariel - reveals herself as a demon. Worse still, she and Castiel clearly have some kind of history. Three against three, the fight would have been fair if Sam and Dean weren't human, but they're quickly overpowered, leaving Castiel to fight alone. He uses Ariel to deliver his warning to Heaven - either leave him and the Winchesters alone or face another war. Sending Ariel back to Heaven injures his grace, however, and leaves him unable to fight. Has he gone too far this time?

Not even a scalding hot shower with double the soap washed away the strange faint glowing marks on Dean's body. He wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror and looked in amazement at the speckled state of his arms, neck, chest, and stomach.

He held out his left arm and touched his inner wrist where it began. An indistinct round shape branded his skin as if wet and shimmery, yet it felt completely dry. As he turned his wrist, the faint light of pale blue turned to white and back again. The mark felt hot to the touch but the skin didn't swell or become agitated like a burn. It was like the light of an angel's grace seeped into his flesh and invaded the very layers and cells beneath the surface.

Similar marks of varying intensity dotted his inner forearm up to his inner elbow, following a path along his collarbones, his throat, and then he lost track of the trail. Most of his chest and abdominal muscles glowed from slight hints and brushes to intense streaks and mouth-shaped marks that seemed to emanate their own light.

It looked like he'd been an angel platter. Castiel had feasted last night.

But that wasn't entirely accurate either. Dean felt the angel inside of him, burrowing beneath his skin, flowing through his veins, and living inside of his smallest cells. He couldn't see Castiel from inside the steamy bathroom but he still knew the angel stood by the motel room window waiting for Sam, his hulking black raven wings still and relaxed in the early morning light. He was thinking about last night too. He was thinking about how long they had before his brothers and sisters caught on to the truth. He was thinking about killing for Dean.

And Dean wondered if this new bond was permanent. Being touched by Castiel's grace was not about an angel feast. It was about being branded and claimed before a pantheon of celestial beings. Castiel took a stand last night when they made love. He marked his territory in a declaration of war.

At least Dean could cover most of the grace marks with clothes until they faded in a few days like Castiel said. Clean boxer briefs and jeans replaced a bath towel. He tugged a green t-shirt over his head and slung an open flannel shirt on his shoulders. For the most part, the marks didn't show. People would really have to study his neck to realize his skin was made of light in spots. Thank fuck strangers couldn't see the bluish-white streaks of glowing on his groin. He loved being with Castiel and eagerly awaited being bitten by grace again, but he didn't love the idea of explaining their relationship to strangers.

Sam crossed the parking lot from his room looking rather refreshed. He knew it he saw it from Castiel's perspective in his mind. The extra new senses should have worried him but it felt rather natural.

Just as Sam got to the door, Dean left the bathroom.

"Morning, Sammy." He smiled. Fine, he showed his good mood.

"Hey." As he dropped his belongings on the table, he took a double take and squinted at Dean. "The hell happened to your neck?"

"Son of a bitch!" Hand flying to his throat, Dean knew exactly what he meant and he examined his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. In natural light, the grace marks seemed brighter than in florescent bathroom light. Great. He tugged his collar and tried to cover it.

Castiel silently moved in behind him and reached a hand around his neck. With one touch, the visible mark faded some. "I can't remove it completely, Dean," the angel said in his ear.

"Aw, man, I don't wanna know. Don't tell me," Sam groaned, knowing it was something he wasn't meant to see.

"So are we headed to Colorado or what?" Dean asked. He felt eager to change the subject but discreetly squeezed Castiel's hand in passing. Some things Sam would just have to get used to or ignore.

"Yeah, I think so." Sam opened his laptop and raked a hand through his hair while it powered up. "It's up to three kids now. They go to bed at age ten and wake up at about age twenty. Skipping ten years in there sounds like a crossroads demon deal. Maybe a witch but I don't see what a witch would get out of rapidly aging kids."

"What about a shifter?" asked Dean. "Maybe these kids aren't really the kids at all."

"Could be. It doesn't look too complicated of a case. Not like we're stopping the apocalypse or anything. Good training for the missus here," said Sam, hooking a thumb at Castiel.

The angel's brow wrinkled and eyes squinted. "The missus? I'm unmarried and I'm not contained in a female vessel, Sam."

"He's being an ass," Dean explained with an exaggerated eye roll. He sat casually on the bed.

Castiel still didn't appear to grasp the euphemism but Sam smirked, obviously pleased with his own wit. Of course Dean knew his brother would be prone to teasing for a while until they all adjusted to this change in their lives. He hoped it wouldn't go on long, though, because he felt an eagerness to reach some kind of rhythm in life, some kind of normalcy with hunting and loving something more than himself.

"Do you want to do another hunt?" he asked Castiel in a tone slightly more intimate.

"Yes," he replied. "I could learn more with you."

"All right. Let's saddle up then." He hopped to his feet and began plucking discarded dirty clothes from the floor. He never took the time to fold things in his duffle bag, except whenever they stopped at a laundromat. The inherent messiness in his things made it seem like a rather scaled down version of what his bedroom would be, if he had one.

Sam, the much neater one of the two, picked up food wrappers and trash in the room even though maids were paid to do that sort of thing. Motel rooms were their homes, for better or worse, and most people felt good about taking care of their homes. Dean wished for a real kitchen more than anything, although he never told anyone that he knew how to cook. Looking after Sam from birth taught him a lot of things that he shouldn't have known. But, he considered as he passed Castiel on his way out to load the car, the self-taught domesticity would come in handy with a lover who was neither human nor able to do the most fundamental human chores. Standing at the trunk of the Impala, he tried to picture them living together. A chuckle rumbled in his chest, but so did a sense of warmth. It was ridiculous to think about but it made sense all at the same time.

Outside there by the Impala, Dean waited for Sam and Castiel. A few minutes went by and they still didn't emerge from the room. Then a few more minutes. Still nothing. Hair stood on end along his arms and his defenses hardened his face. Something felt wrong. Dean grabbed the demon blade from his trunk and slammed it shut.

Two men and one woman, all in black suits, greeted him as he walked into the room. The men guarded Sam, who sat tensely on the bed, and Castiel stood with his back to Dean and the door. The woman spoke to him. Only when Dean looked around Castiel's wing to see his angel blade tightly gripped in his hand did he realize these three strangers were angels. The woman tilted forward in a defensive stance with her own angel blade poised at the ready.

"Castiel," she said, "come with us now and we won't hurt Romeo there."

Dean's face shifted in sarcasm and offense.

"I will do no such thing, Ariel. Especially not with you," Castiel growled in a low, territorial sound. "Leave now before I send you back to Hell."

"Hell?" questioned Dean.

The woman - a petite figure with shiny blonde hair and eyes of a Nordic goddess - smiled over Castiel's shoulder, between his wings, at Dean. "Such a pretty angel, aren't I?" As she spoke, black filled her eyes until nothing remained but the demonic gaze.

Instantly, Dean flipped his demon blade and shoved his way past Castiel, ready to gank the thing right then and there. Her hand flipped and Dean felt his body lift off the floor and slammed into the wall beside the television. He watched Sam shoot to his feet and throw an elbow at one of his captors. They each flipped hands and flung him against the opposite wall. The brothers struggled to peel off the walls from opposite ends of the room as Castiel took on Ariel and her minions by himself.

"Cas!" shouted Dean in the sweat of fear.

His angel managed to flip around and jam his hand across one of the men's faces. White flames shot from his eyes, nose, and mouth as he flailed and dropped to the floor in seconds. Castiel's agility spun him just as the other man threw a punch. The angel blade still gripped like a vice, he threw a wicked right hook and stunned the demon long enough to jam the blade in his chest. Before he could yank it out from the white flaming corpse, Ariel grabbed him from behind and threw him against the wall beside Dean. The force of his body hitting the wall even knocked the wind out of Dean, not that he could do anything about it. Castiel slumped to the ground, clearly stunned, and he grabbed his chest as if his vessel's ribs were broken.

"Shit! Cas!" Dean shouted. He strained every muscle in his body to free himself.

Ariel ignored Dean and Sam as she strolled toward Castiel on the floor as if taking a walk on a summer day. Dean willed him in his thoughts to get up and fight, thinking that maybe their bond still meant the angel could hear his thoughts. This couldn't end here. Not this soon.

"Do you know how valuable you and your boy toy are to demons everywhere now?" she seethed. She crouched and grabbed Castiel by the tie, forcing him to look at her. "Especially me, darling. You're my ticket back to Heaven. I've waited a long time for this day. I told you there would come a time when you'd regret having me kicked out of our father's home, didn't I? All I had to do was wait for your ultimate rebellion. This one was a doozy, Castiel. Even I wouldn't have gambled on you going this far but it's a beautiful thing. Soon I'll be home again and you'll be cast out. You'll become a demon like me."

As she spoke, Dean watched another angel blade slide slowly and discreetly through the cuff of Castiel's trench coat sleeve.

"You always loved the sound of your own voice too much, Ariel," he struggled to say through crackling breath.

A swift wind of Castiel's wings ruffled Dean's clothes as the angel bolted to his feet, taking Ariel by surprise. His long leg jammed into her chest in a powerful kick. It knocked her violently across the room. She slammed through the bathroom wall like a battering ram. Plaster and tiles shattered loudly, leaving a gaping hole. It must have knocked her out because the hold on the Winchesters released simultaneously and they dropped to the floor.

Something deeply ingrained in Dean told him this wasn't his fight but the quickened blood and adrenalin made him charge toward the hole in the wall. He wanted to gank the demon himself. Nobody touched his family. He noticed Sam grabbing his lower leg and growling through pain but they couldn't get him help until Ariel was dead.

"No, Dean!" barked Castiel as he stalked ahead of him.

The hunter was never one to back down from a fight. Castiel anticipated it, knowing him better than Sam in some ways, and Dean hit a sudden black wall like cement. Solid muscle covered by a thick layer of feathers hit Dean hard enough that he flew off his feet and nearly landed in the motel room doorway. Blinding pain blasted across the back of his head and he realized he hit the door frame hard enough that he felt the room blur. He grunted and rolled on his side as Sam crawled around the bed toward him, clearly suffering a broken leg.

"Dean?" hissed Sam.

Dean squinted through fuzzy vision just as Castiel's wings flipped up to fit through the bathroom wall. A silver glow followed his dark head. Dean blinked. It was still there. He blinked again. A ring of faint vaporous light surrounded Castiel's head. Suddenly, Dean realized not only could he see the wings but he now saw the halo too. He guessed taking a knock to the head loosened the last block on their bond.

Castiel stood over Ariel, then crouched, and grabbed her by her white blouse. Blue eyes raged, though his face remained stonelike and entirely too calm. When she regained consciousness, her limbs fought the angel but his grip seemed too strong.

"You are correct about one thing," Castiel said. Dean realized the angel spoke Enochian. Even more shocking, Dean realized he understood Enochian like English. "I'm sending you home, Ariel. You are going to tell them that I'm not harming anyone by being here with Dean. You are going to tell them that I'm not coming home. And then, you're going to tell them that if any celestial body touches Sam or Dean Winchester in a manner that displeases me, there will be a reckoning the likes of which they haven't seen in history. I once took God's power. You know I'm capable of shaking the rafters for the love of mankind." His gravel voice deepened to its most threatening tones as he spoke. Dean's stomach clenched as he watched Castiel shake Ariel again. "Show me you understand, Ariel. Nod."

A mouthful of black spit shot from her mouth and splattered on Castiel's face. Unflinching, his hand appeared massive as it grabbed her around the throat. Choking sounds filtered through the room. Dean had never seen Castiel so ruthless before - so willing to draw out a death as if he was schooled in the art of torture. He crawled across the floor, squeezing Sam's shoulder as he moved toward the angel. He ripped the angel blade out of the other demon's corpse and continued crawling toward his lover.

"Stay back, Dean," he said coolly without looking up.

Dean threw the angel blade through the hole in the wall. Angelic reflexes caught it in mid-air despite never once looking away from Ariel's face.

"Go home, Ariel. Tell them what I have told you." Castiel's hand splayed across her face. The flames of light spilled from her face as she screamed in the last fight of life.

Once her meat suit went limp, he plunged the angel blade into her chest. Dean assumed it was a gesture to ensure that she couldn't come back.

And as Castiel rose to his full height, only stooping to pass through the hole in the wall, Dean saw his first full glimpse of wings and halo combined on that very human vessel. It awed him as much as the angel's warrior ability to declare war with a single kill, creating a messenger to Heaven out of an angel-turned-demon. Just as swiftly as he'd become a warrior, he shifted back to a protector and a lover, kneeling between the Winchester brothers. Two fingers pressed to Sam's forehead healed his bruises and broken leg.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said in real gratitude.

"I'm sorry you got caught in this, Sam," he replied in earnest.

Turning to Dean, he slipped his hand along his jaw and cupped his face in a much more intimate gesture. All of the pain he felt disappeared with a warm flush, as did the knot on the back of his head.

"Cas," he whispered, "I can see your halo now too."

Castiel briefly tilted his head in questioning but then he nodded gently. "It is as it should be. No barriers."

"Too?" Sam knitted his brows together, staring at Dean. "What's going on?"

Hesitation hitched Dean's throat, uncertain of whether it was supposed to be a secret.

"The amorous bond between a human and an angel lifts the veil between them. Dean began seeing my wings last week - not just shadows of wings. Only one human in my existence will feel this type of bond and Dean is that human." Castiel's eyes passed from Sam to Dean. "Now it seems the veil has lifted more. In addition to my wings, he now sees my halo."

Sam took it in stride as best as he could, but it still came as a shock, and he stood. "Wait, so you have one of those gold shiny things over your head?"

"Silver," corrected Dean as he helped the angel stand.

"Only archangels have gold halos," added Castiel.

The struggling sound of Castiel's breathing worried Dean even though he technically didn't need to breathe. It meant his vessel was injured, probably pretty bad.

"We need to leave before Ariel sends a host after us," Castiel said. Sweat broke out over his forehead. "Drive to a heavily populated city. It'll be more difficult to track us there."

"Okay," Dean obliged, looping an arm around Castiel as he looked more wobbly. "Can't you heal yourself?"

"Not yet. I used a lot of my mojo, as you call it, sending Ariel back to Heaven and then healing you two. It will take time to replenish myself."

"All right. We treat your injuries like a human hunter then. Sammy, get the Impala door. Back door. Let's get out of here," ordered Dean. He felt Castiel's body giving way as they walked to the car.

So, this was it, he thought as he fed the angel into the back seat. Castiel and the Winchesters were at war with Heaven. He didn't think they stood a chance but Castiel's conviction when he told Ariel about shaking the rafters with a reckoning shook Dean in its depth. The angel was willing to take on Heaven and die for him.

The Impala sped westward, leaving another destroyed motel room in its wake.


	4. Tell Me Again Why We Ganked The Little Mermaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Castiel try to find a safe place to hide from the angels and demons hunting them. Castiel injured his grace and his vessel badly, leaving him rather defenseless. Another angel finds them and Dean fights with powers he didn't know he'd absorbed - angelic powers. Is he going down the road of Sam getting addicted to demon blood? Will they find a safe place to hide and regroup? And will Castiel allow himself to siphon from Dean's soul to heal himself?

"Cas, talk to me. You okay back there?" demanded Dean.

The hunter's foot pressed into the accelerator, pushing the Impala's engine to her limits, yet focused more on the angel slumped in the back seat. They had to get to a heavily populated city fast or the dicks with wings might find them.

Beside him, Sam turned around and leaned into the back. His massive hands gripped Castiel's trench coat and helped him sit more upright.

"My vessel has three broken ribs," Castiel rasped. "I'll be all right."

Dean squinted at the rear view mirror. "Can't heal yourself yet?"

The angel shook his head. "No. Maybe tomorrow or the next day." He reached into his sleeve and withdrew his angel blade. "Dean. I can't if they…" He passed the blade to the front.

"Got it. Don't worry." With one hand on the wheel, Dean slipped the blade in his jacket pocket. "You got any more of these?"

"I can get more when I'm healed," Castiel replied. "Sam needs one too."

The younger Winchester threw a glance in the back. "Is that allowed?"

"Sam, I think I'm past the point of considering what's allowed and what's not. I'll sneak into Heaven's weapons storage and get what's required to defend ourselves. This won't be the last skirmish. It's just the beginning." He sounded calm and resolute but something fearful trailed his words.

Dean stole a look through the mirror again. Hulking black raven wings pulled upright as Castiel shuffled around in attempts to relieve his pain until the majority of the back window was blocked. The halo wasn't nearly as impressive as he'd imagined. Silver light seemed rather lackluster and dim as if a lightbulb was on its last legs. He wondered if the halo was like a gauge reflecting his condition. If his mojo was drained, maybe the halo went dim too.

He noticed Castiel looking at him over the seat through studious, silent blue eyes and dark lashes. Of course he probably heard Dean working out angel mechanics in his mind.

"Tell me again why we ganked The Little Mermaid." The need for clear information seemed like Dean's only viable weapon at that point.

Castiel blinked, shifting from studious to confused. "She was not a mythological human-fish hybrid, Dean."

"The Little Mermaid," Dean repeated, flipping up a hand as if he should have known. "Disney? Singing crab? Ariel trades her voice for the prince? Hot redhead washing up on the beach?"

It appeared Castiel made the connection between Ariels but he clearly had never seen the movie.

"Okay, I need to know who they were and why they found us first."

The angel leaned back against the seat and tried to breathe evenly as he watched the scenery pass his window. The subject clearly caused him discomfort. Dean waited patiently, feeling a dull ache in his own chest as if Castiel's pain touched him too.

"I was a captain in Anna's garrison. You remember her." Castiel's eyes slid sideways to Dean, who merely grunted uncomfortably in response. "Our garrison was rather large. We were assigned to watch over the earth and mankind. There were five captains under Anna. We each commanded a company of three hundred angels. Ariel was one of my lieutenants. She worked hard but when Lucifer's insurrection occurred, she became entranced by his lies, and she double-crossed us, as you might say. I discovered her motives. God cast her out with the others but there were some angels created into demons as a form of punishment for the deeper betrayals. There are about fifty angels-turned-demons who were all working with Ariel for Lucifer. She blamed me for thousands of years and took her opportunity for revenge today."

"Instead, you turned the tables back on her and used her as your messenger," Sam surmised with an impressed shrug.

"My declaration of war, really," said the angel.

It brought a smirk from Dean even though going to war against Heaven was no laughing matter. "Awesome," he muttered. His nerdy angel really was tough and highly skilled in matters of war. Something about it Dean found really … well … sexy. No time to think that way, he chastised himself, shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

Castiel fell over and retched suddenly in the back seat. He groaned in pain and Dean screeched the Impala to a stop on the side of the road as Sam reached back, pulling the angel upright again. Dean flung open the driver's side door and spun to the back. There wasn't much for the angel to vomit since he almost never ate anything. Without reacting to it, Dean grabbed a rag under the seat, covered the little puddle, and climbed into the back seat.

"My vessel has a low tolerance for physical pain," said Castiel through a fist pressed to his mouth.

"We're finding a motel and holing up for the night," Dean decided in a tone that meant no arguing. "Sammy, can you drive?"

"Got it." The younger Winchester slid behind the wheel and pulled the door shut.

In the back, Dean carefully slid an arm around Castiel's back and nudged him closer. They talked in private tones about going to a hospital but the angel rightly thought it would draw unwanted attention. He had been wounded before and soldiered through it without complaint, but this time, it bothered Dean so much more. He knew Sam couldn't help but steal glances at the weird image of his big brother's behavior turning tender and comforting, especially as Castiel rested against his shoulder. Dean's fingertips lightly passed through his dark hair as they drove. Pain made his vessel sweat.

"Sammy, make a pit stop if you see a liquor store," he decided.

Skeptical eyes shifted to the mirror. "You're gonna get him drunk?"

"It would take an entire inventory," added the angel.

"We're just taking the edge off the pain," said Dean, "not getting drunk. I don't have any painkillers on me."

The fifteen minute drive to find a liquor store in the middle of nowhere felt impossibly long to Dean. Every time the old car hit a pothole, he felt Castiel wince in the crook of his arm. There had to be something to speed up the mojo refill so he could heal himself. He rarely saw the angel so drained and wondered if he overextended himself sending Ariel back to Heaven.

"Like pulling a muscle to you, I think," he murmured against Dean's shoulder, obviously listening to his thoughts again.

"You pulled your grace too hard," Dean surmised.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Okay, well, I got you. Just rest." Being protective of Sam for thirty years taught Dean exactly how to be protective of Castiel. He passed comforting fingertips through the angel's hair again, and softly touched his cheek in an effort to help him relax.

The Impala turned into a liquor store parking lot and Sam offered to go buy the booze. Much to their surprise, Castiel announced that he preferred rum over whiskey, though neither brother wanted to bring up the last time he was so drunk that he could barely walk. He must have tasted every kind of liquor such a store offered. Kindly, Sam nodded without passing judgment. He'd been awfully quiet since Dean and his angel openly declared love for one another.

"Dean, you should talk to your brother soon," Castiel said once Sam went into the store. "Something is upsetting him more than his normal level of angst."

"I know," Dean agreed.

As he slid out from under Castiel, he kissed the angel quickly before anyone might have seen them. He left the door open while cleaning out the accumulation of fast food wrappers from the floorboards. This wasn't a place to care for an injured angel. Back and forth from the sidewalk garbage can to the car, Dean made certain to wipe up all evidence of Castiel's vessel getting sick, and he threw away the rag. Unfortunately, the rag turned out to be an AC/DC shirt he thought he'd lost months ago, but it didn't matter so much anymore. It struck him sometimes exactly how strange it was that he felt so perfectly willing to give up so many things for Castiel's comfort. If that was love, then no wonder people lost their minds with cheesy poetry and romantic comedies.

Dean heaved an old, ripped garbage bag into the can and caught a glimpse of Sam through the window standing in line inside the liquor store. Another image reflected in the glass that his brain didn't accept in moment of frozen time. He spun on his heels just as an angelic dick dragged Castiel from the back seat like a ripped up rag doll. Tall and in an irritatingly ginger meat suit, the angel hooked a punch to Castiel's jaw, whipping his head back and throwing his body against the car. He thrust a hand against Castiel's throat and Dean watched his massive raven wings beat wildly against the car like a trapped bird.

Time stopped in crackling disjointed bolts around Dean as his body flooded with rage, fear, and territorial impulses. He nearly lifted out of his own body and watched himself launch across the parking lot. The angel abandoned Castiel at just the moment Dean thought he had the advantage. He threw his full weight behind his fist but the ginger angel caught it like snatching a baseball in mid-pitch. An explosion of pain rocked Dean's jaw and he stumbled back, realizing he'd been punched.

"Dean!" Castiel struggled to his feet as if he could help but spit blood on the ground instead. His mouth had been split open on top of everything.

The sound of Castiel's voice in distress echoed in the back of Dean's mind, touching something primal, something like a nuclear reactor. Before he had time to think, he was on his feet and the angel laughed at him for the audacity.

"Suck it, dickwad," growled the hunter.

The ghost of Castiel's hand that had burned into Dean's shoulder rippled in a surge of energy. Rippling traveled beneath the skin through his bicep, around his elbow, and built pressure in his wrist until he feared the bones would explode. Instinct alone dictated Dean's arm as he rammed an open palm against the angel's chest. The nuclear reactor inside of him ruptured from his palm in a white hot blast of light. It blinded him, forcing his face to turn away, but he stood his ground in the mere seconds it took for the inhuman blast of raging protection light to knock the angel thirty feet away.

Fire fed through his arm, threaded from each spot on his body where Castiel had branded him with his grace. Hot light, both air and liquid, erupted from his palm and each of his fingertips. He felt the ginger angel's instant terror at realizing Dean wasn't just another hairless ape. He felt power. He felt, for the first time, that he wasn't helpless anymore in protecting Castiel or Sam.

It only took a few seconds but Dean watched it all happen in slow motion. Just as he looked up again, the angel vaulted backwards across the parking lot and vaporized before his eyes. The celestial dick never touched the ground. And he was gone.

As quickly as the rage came over him, it dissipated. Dean's hand fell. He studied his own palm and realized, although it felt hot to the touch, he had no earthly idea what just happened. Turning, he met eyes with Castiel on the ground, who looked just as stunned and dumbfounded as Sam on the sidewalk clutching a case of rum.

"We gotta get out of here. If that dick's not dead, he's coming back with a bunch more dicks," Dean said in a sudden rush as he scooped Castiel from the ground and fed him into the back seat again.

Sam jumped into the passenger seat with the case of rum balanced on his lap as Dean jumped into the driver's seat. Again, the Winchesters were on the run with a wounded angel in tow. If the Impala didn't get some rest in the next few days, Dean knew pushing the engine so hard would land them in a stranded mess. For now, they had to get to the city and find a motel. He already mapped out where to draw the angel warding symbols throughout the motel rooms.

"Cas, take a drink. You'll feel better," said the younger Winchester as he passed a bottle back.

True, Sam sounded concerned for the angel but his eyes shifted to Dean frequently. Heavy silence filled the gap between brothers on the bench seat as they drove. Occasionally, the angel's hand passed an empty bottle to the front. He drained four bottles of rum in a half hour, not that his tolerance for alcohol remotely resembled anything human.

"I think I'm starting to feel something," Castiel grumbled. "Warm. The pain isn't so bad."

"Good," said Sam. "Take it easy until we get to a room."

Rustling in the back seat and wings turning sideways in the mirror told Dean the angel tried to lie down, though he was rather large even for the old car. The weird silence settled between brothers once more as the sun settled toward the western horizon ahead of them. He knew Sam demanded an explanation with those narrowed, imploring eyes of his, but he couldn't quite tell if those eyes were accusing or empathetic. The younger brother had had his fill of unnatural power given to him by things outside of his own kind. Angels weren't demons but they were still dicks too. This was Castiel though, not Ruby. Dean worked up a defense in his own mind before Sam even asked him directly about what just happened.

"I don't know, Sammy," he said in a low tone as if Castiel wasn't a few feet away. "I don't know what happened."

"Bullshit you don't know," Sam replied just as low.

Dean's palm slammed the wheel. "I don't! I swear! I saw that dick go after Cas and I just … I lost it. I couldn't make that happen again if I tried. I don't even know how I did it in the first place."

"Dean, it was too much grace," Castiel's voice sounded a bit slurred and gravelly under the rum's influence. "I miscalculated how much your body could tolerate. You only defended me as I would have defended you. It'll fade in a few days."

Sam shot Dean an accusing eye. "He's been sharing his grace with you? And we went through how much with Ruby and the demon blood? Are you kidding me?"

"It wasn't like that."

"How was it then? Look, I'm not going down this road with you, Dean. I'm not having you be a strung out junkie like I was. No good will come out of it and you know it."

The angel pushed himself partially upright and Dean caught a glimpse of familiar glazed eyes. He knew the affects of alcohol all too well. At least his body no longer looked so tense with pain. He just wanted to find a room and hole up safe for the night.

"Sam, it wasn't like the demon blood. I did this to Dean in an over zealous moment of … affection. This is not his fault. As I said, it'll fade in a few days. He's not a strung out junkie, as you called it."

The way Castiel explained it slowly registered for Sam and his face wrinkled in disgust. "Over zealous - are you talking about sex? What the hell - Oh God!"

"I don't see what my father has to do with it," said Castiel in typical sincerity.

Dean laughed in spite of himself, in spite of Castiel's most blazing over share yet. "Shoulda believed me, Sammy. I'm not as dumb as I look."

"Dean, you're far from dumb. You hardly look dumb either," Castiel rambled as he nursed a new rum bottle. "You're one of the most beautiful humans I've ever encountered. Your soul - it's so bright. So many colors. Even in Hell, you took my breath away, as humans might say. You make it easy to rebel and please you. It's much more difficult to obey and see your disappointment." He brought the bottle to his lips and pulled a quarter of the liquid down his throat in one shot. "I do enjoy rum."

"Wow is he drunk," whispered Sam, laughter filling his eyes.

Dean supposed he should have been embarrassed by the rambling declaration of affection, but the way an Angel of The Lord slurred and chuckled at himself brought deep rolling laughter from Dean's chest. City lights up ahead lightened the mood even more. Soon they could all rest and build a secure area to plan their next move.

"I'm not drunk," Castiel refuted Sam's claim. He swallowed another quarter of the bottle and smiled in an eerily human way. "Maybe a little drunk. It's preferable to pain."

"Story of my life, babe," said Dean absently.

"Babe?" Clearly, Sam hadn't reached any sort of ease with the change in his brother's relationship with the angel.

"Shut up."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Humans…" muttered Castiel after a moment.

Downtown Denver materialized around the Impala within a few hours and the city enveloped them in a bubble of relative safety at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. Dean let out a small breath of relief that they hadn't been accosted by more angels before they reached the city. If Castiel was right, it would be harder to track them in such a heavily populated area. He instructed Dean, after his seventh bottle of rum, to seek a motel chain that could be found nationwide in order to further cloak their location.

They checked into two neighboring rooms in a decent motel in the center of the city. At least the chains were usually cleaner than the mom and pop places where they usually stayed.

"All right, Cas, come on." Dean leaned into the back seat while Sam held the room's door open, and he carefully brought the angel to his feet. Castiel's vessel breathed loudly and he sounded pretty rough, but Dean reminded himself that it was only temporary. "This way, drunkie." He steered Castiel toward the room and Sam found it all endlessly funny.

"I love you so much, Dean," slurred Castiel's deep tones.

"I know." Dean couldn't help laughing at how utterly human the angel sounded when he drank. "Get over there to the bed. Lay down."

Castiel sat on the end of the bed, swayed, and fell on his back. At least he was safely on the bed, although he winced in pain and grabbed his chest as he fell backwards.

Wordlessly, having done it countless times over the years, Sam and Dean set to work with their cans of spray paint. Red dripping warding symbols formed on the window panes, the room doors, the bathroom doors, the walls, the floors, and even the ceilings. Dean simply wasn't willing to take any chances. He even spray painted symbols over the air vents. No creatures from Heaven or Hell were slithering their ways into the adjoining rooms if he could help it.

"I think we got it," said Sam, stepping back to appraise Dean's room. "I put the devil's trap in front of the door here, just in case. I think we've got Fort Knox here though."

"Thanks, Sammy."

"I paid through the week. We just gotta keep him from zapping out of here," he added with a nod at Castiel flat on his back.

The angel lifted a hand. "I have no plans to leave."

Dean braced his hands on the bed and leaned over Castiel so he could talk without making him sit up. He'd broken ribs before too and knew exactly how horrible it felt. "We're gonna get you healed up quick," he decided, the idea settling on him like defined purpose. "There's a way to speed this up. You're just not saying it."

"It's dangerous, Dean," he replied darkly.

Sam shuffled uncomfortably and slipped his hands into his pockets. "You're talking about the soul siphoning thing. I don't think you know what you're volunteering for, Dean."

"I do. I watched him do it to you, remember?"

"All too well."

"And he was wounded badly before with Bobby. Nothing bad happened. He got better." The suffering Castiel endured that night bothered Dean more than he was willing to admit. He looked earnestly at his brother, still leaned over the angel, and his voice dropped all pretense of bravado. "You'd have done anything to help Jess if she was hurt. This isn't any different. I think you're forgetting what he is to me. Maybe you think it's a phase. Maybe you think I'm confused or just lonely or something. Lemme tell you, Sammy, I've been carrying this around for more than a year. It's a crushing weight on your chest day in and day out to love someone down in your gut, in your soul, and not be able to help them. Now I can take his suffering. You of all people should understand where I'm coming from here."

Mentioning Jess always brought a flash of agony to Sam's eyes and he looked to the ceiling momentarily as if reliving the nightmare. He folded his arms over the broadness of his chest and heaved a painful sigh, clearly not willing to accept Castiel's importance in Dean's life yet. The struggle painted his face though. Dean could see him trying to accept it, trying to adjust to this abrupt change, and that was enough for him for the moment.

"Fine," Sam caved reluctantly. "I'm staying though."

"Dean," protested the angel, "it's dangerous. One wrong move and I'd kill you. I can't do that."

"Yeah, you can do it, because you're not gonna kill me. Sammy's gonna hold me down in this chair and you're gonna suck my energy and heal yourself." As he spoke, Dean stripped off his flannel shirt. He no longer cared that his brother would see the glowing grace marks along his bare arms. "Cas, you're getting healed up and that's that. I need you in fighting shape with all these angel dicks after us."

The angel shakily pushed himself upright on the bed and his glazed blue eyes stared into Dean in that unnerving way. "Tell me why you're really doing this, Dean."

"I told you. I need you to fight with me," he reiterated.

"Not good enough, Dean," Castiel argued. "The truth."

Dean felt himself getting tense. He scoffed as he removed his watch and dropped it on the dresser. "Because," his voice lowered even more, "because I love you and I can't take watching you in that kind of pain."

He watched a faint smile pull at Castiel's lips through the mirror's reflection and the angel nodded. Castiel then pushed himself to his feet, moving rather slowly and deliberately, and he arranged the chair in the most open position in the room.

"You'll have to hold him down," he told Sam. "If I know him, he'll struggle."

"Don't worry. We can do it," Sam reassured.

"Let's get this over with." The idea of pain didn't exactly thrill him but he hardened himself to the decision.

Dean sat down and passed his arms behind his back, where Sam tied his wrists together with his own belt. He stared at Castiel as he yanked off the belt from his vessel's suit and folded it in half.

"You still drunk?" asked Dean, probably too late.

"I think you call it buzzed. It's not of import. Bite on this," Castiel replied as he thrust the belt into Dean's mouth. "Sam?"

"Ready."

Behind him, Dean felt his brother grab him low around the waist and across the shoulders, leaving his chest open to the angel. He considered closing his eyes but then he thought if he really was going to die, he wanted the last thing he saw to be Castiel's face. They gazed at each other for a drawn moment. He nodded, the belt firmly gripped between his teeth.

"Go somewhere that gives you peace," said the angel in a tender voice.

It looked like he expected Dean to close his eyes but he didn't. He was already looking at the thing that gave him peace. Castiel's face tilted slightly as if realizing that fact, and he bent for a kiss on Dean's forehead. His lips remained pressed to his forehead as his grace invaded his chest cavity through his vessel's fist. Unbearable pain clamped Dean's torso and radiated through his limbs until he screamed into the belt. Teeth clenched down on the leather so hard that he thought he might actually bite through it.

Light flooded the room, erupting straight from his chest, flowed through Castiel's arm, and centered in his own chest. Being bonded by Castiel holding Dean's soul in the palm of his hand was both the most painful and beautiful thing he'd ever experienced. Of course, thinking about the beauty would have to come after the pain subsided.

Somewhere in the distance, perhaps miles away, he heard Sam say, "Hold on, man. He's almost done."

Dean opened his eyes again in the last seconds, only mildly aware of his voice breaking and going hoarse with the strain of containing screams. Castiel's chest glowed in front of him. Or was it light pouring out from his own chest? He swore he could see Castiel's ribs mending through his mind's eye. The bones set themselves and regenerated marrow under the protective loving direction of Dean's soul energy. More importantly, Castiel's damaged grace restored. It resembled a soul in itself, yet far more luminous, glowing brighter than any human could tolerate seeing, and resided within his vessel's heart.

Despite the horrifying pain in Dean's body, his soul felt like a completely different entity. Calm and resolute, his soul passed through the whole of his angel's vessel and through the beautiful heat of his grace. He whispered things to Castiel with his soul. No words. No barriers. Only truth and every secret he ever carried. And in a flash as bright as looking directly into the sun, Dean lost consciousness.

Time passed under the black blanket of silence. Hours or days, he couldn't be sure. When he came to, he found himself carefully laid out on the bed with two pillows inclined under his head and shoulders. His chest burned like hell when he breathed, like standing too close to a roaring campfire.

Eyes blinking into focus settled on Castiel's tall figure facing the dresser past the end of the bed. He lifted a disastrous wad of Dean's shirts from his duffle bag and began folding them. Was he dreaming this weird shit? Dean blinked again. No, it seemed real enough. Castiel was organizing his possessions and Sam was nowhere in sight. He should have been offended that someone went into his things without permission but he was just too damn worn out to care.

"Sam went to bed hours ago. I told him I would watch over you since I don't require sleep," announced Castiel without facing him. Of course he sensed Dean was awake. "Dawn will come in a few hours."

"How are you feeling?" The hoarseness of Dean's voice surprised him as much as the burn, like his throat was ripped apart.

"Good as new. Some of these clothes, Dean. It looks like you shred them. You should keep your possessions more orderly." To illustrate his point, the angel faced Dean with a blue shirt spread open, displaying four holes along the collar and arms.

"Are you snooping, Cas?" He smiled faintly but it drained him just to do that much. He couldn't move if he tried.

"No, Dean. I'm watching over you."

The angel resumed folding his clothes and organizing his toiletries. He put the toothbrush back in the container with a comment about human germs and bacteria making Dean sick. Dean, to his credit in new patience, just let Castiel do as he pleased so long as he wasn't in pain anymore. It seemed that siphoning Dean's soul sobered him up too, and without any hint of a hangover. His mannerisms seemed like himself again. He moved easily. Sighing lightly, Dean accepted that Castiel was back to normal, leaving him a few minutes to rest for himself.

"More than a few minutes, Dean," the angel conversed with Dean's thoughts. "It'll take a day to regain your strength. The warding symbols are all in tact. I checked them a little while ago. Sam is asleep. All of my wounds are healed and my grace is functioning as it should. There's nothing else for you to do now but rest."

"Okay, but where's my ring?" Dean questioned, feeling a bit obnoxious but having nothing else to point out.

Castiel raised his right hand and wiggled the third finger as he put a stack of folded shirts in the duffle bag with the other hand. It looked good, Dean had to admit, the silver ring shining on his angel's finger.

"Okay. Don't—"

"—Don't lose it. I know, Dean." Castiel zipped the smaller leather bag of toiletries and put it next to the folded clothes in the duffle. "At first when you gave it to me, it felt peculiar to wear a piece of silver on my vessel. I did it to make you happy. I remember when humans began fashioning shells, stones, and metals into ornaments on their bodies. They didn't know their own beauty or that they didn't need ornamentation to enhance that beauty. I think I understand it better now. This ring feels like you. Part of your soul is imprinted on it. That's what makes it important and worthy of my protection, like your other possessions here. Your clothes smell like you even after they're laundered. These hapless objects are covered in your essence."

"Are you sure you're not still drunk?" Dean's teasing sounded gentle and he smirked.

For once, Castiel recognized humor. He smiled faintly over his shoulder. "Dean, I'm perfectly sober."

"Come here and watch over me then." It took considerable energy for Dean to pat the mattress beside him. "Ditch the suit and tie."

Obediently, the angel peeled off the trench coat, suit jacket, and yanked off his tie as he came along Dean's bedside. He kicked off his shoes and slid into bed. Dean welcomed his weight sinking the mattress beside him. Instinctively, he reached over and splayed a hand over Castiel's rib cage through his white dress shirt. The angel curled up close to his body.

"There's no need to worry. I'm healed, Dean," Castiel said again.

The hand wearing Dean's ring skimmed along his jaw and his cheek. His eyes slipped shut into blessed darkness and peace as Castiel languidly caressed different paths around his face, his neck, his shoulders, and his chest. Despite the lingering pain radiating through his chest, wherever Castiel touched him, it felt like a cooling salve. Tingling sensations emerged from the angel's palm. Dean recognized the warmth of being touched by his grace, although it manifested as comfort and affection rather than possessive and erotic like last time.

"Sleep," Castiel whispered like a spell. "Everyone is safe. Sam and I are protected. You are protected. I'll be here when you wake. Sleep, Dean."


	5. Stuck In Motel Jail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Heaven hunting Dean and Castiel to stop their abomination of a relationship, they're stuck for days in a motel covered in warding symbols. Sam leaves for the library in search of anything that might help. The hunter and the angel are so tense from their imprisonment that certain fears rise to the surface, including Castiel's confession of the identity of his mother. Their relationship remains unsteady and uncertain, but they find comfort in each other as another barrier breaks, allowing Dean to experience more of Castiel's true form. Castiel learns more about what it means to love in a human body.

Dean wanted a drink so bad.

Two days after Castiel siphoned off energy from his soul, he finally started feeling strong again. The first thing he wanted was a bacon cheeseburger. Sam obliged him on that one by hurrying through Wendy's clutching an angel blade. The second thing he wanted was a fifth of whiskey. God, just the thought of the Jack Daniels label made his mouth water. It didn't exactly occur to him how much he drank until he made a silent promise to himself that he would stop out of respect for his new relationship with Castiel.

What was he thinking?

He was in love - that's what. People in love did stupid shit all the time, like give up perfectly numbing, delicious whiskey out of respect. Respect. What did that even mean anyway?

"Aren't you going stir crazy?" he asked, irritated.

"I do feel rather confined but it's for a greater purpose." The angel's capacity for patience amazed Dean.

"Yeah, well, I almost welcome a fight if I can just go for a walk." He sighed and stretched in his chair. "I don't like staying put. I'm bored."

"I don't like it either, Dean."

The hunter laughed, lines crinkling around his eyes. "You sound so human sometimes."

Castiel sat at the end of the bed watching television while they waited for Sam to return from the library. He went to check out every book on angel-human unions that he could find, hoping to find some way out of this mess.

Floating symphony music filled the room as ballet dancers performed Sleeping Beauty on television, which had Castiel so engrossed that his body took on an unnatural stillness. Even when his vessel looked still, the liquid light in his wings ebbed and flowed slowly, almost the way a person unconsciously breathed. But everything about him focused on the ballet. He still found stunning beauty in mankind, though Dean had no idea how he did it.

Maybe that's why Dean stopped drinking. He found beauty in Castiel the way Castiel found beauty in humanity. For once, Dean Winchester wanted to feel something besides self-loathing and numbness.

"Dean, look at this dancer - Vivianne Gardner," Castiel said without taking his eyes off the television screen. "She's learned to move her body like air. It's astonishing. She's been dancing since she was three-years-old. Her father abandoned her. She hoards every penny she earns under the floorboards of her bedroom. It's up to fifty thousand dollars now. She never wants to be homeless again. All of those fears are worked out through her dancing. It's astonishing what humans will overcome to still find happiness."

"Really, Cas? A ballet fanboy? We're just inching closer and closer to buying a quaint little house, brunches, and having tiny yappy dogs." Dean slid behind Castiel on the bed and watched the performance over his shoulder, a hand nudging one of his wings down so he could see. "Did she do an interview or something?"

"No."

"You read about her?"

"No."

Dean leaned to the side and studied Castiel's profile.

"Dean, I know things about people," he explained. "It's my job. Or it was my job. I suppose my position in the garrison has been replaced."

The slight downturn in the angel's voice hurt quite unexpectedly. One definite con to no longer drinking every day was certainly feeling all of the bad. He wanted to know if Castiel regretted this ultimate rebellion, knowing he could never take it back, but something else in him feared the answer. So instead, Dean nestled between wings so much bigger than him and looped an arm around the front of Castiel's shoulders. His face nuzzled the angel's neck. So many questions tangled in his throat, mainly fearful of regret. This was not like him at all. Vulnerability annoyed him in other people but made him furious with himself.

Castiel said nothing and didn't even break concentration on the ballet, but he reached up and squeezed Dean's forearm. He seemed to know without saying anything at all. That was probably one of the things nonverbal Dean loved the most. Castiel felt everything and didn't need any of it explained.

"Do you regret any of this?" Dean finally asked, though it was a small whisper against the angel's neck.

"No, Dean. I knew what would happen." The angel silenced and his eyes dropped to the floor. It was true - the more time he spent with Dean, the more human his mannerisms became, which worried the hunter. Castiel spoke softly. "I regret putting your lives in danger - you and Sam. Being forced to choose between Heaven and you is something I regret but only because they've forced it on me. Us - no, I won't ever regret us."

A puff of relief passed Dean's lips over Castiel's skin. "I'd still want you whether it brought a million winged in-laws or none. They're junkless assholes if they don't want you because you're with me."

"That's why it's so easy to rebel for you. I'm just me. You don't demand blind obedience." Soft blue eyes turned to Dean. He seemed so lost, yet determined to see it through to the end. And in a moment of silent communication - they were getting good at that - Castiel pulled Dean's hand from his shoulders and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. "You worry more since you stopped consuming alcohol."

The hunter didn't respond. He hadn't been sure if anyone noticed that he stopped drinking, but then again, he should have known Castiel never missed a beat.

"Dean, I appreciate what you've done. I know it wasn't easy to stop. It isn't necessary to give it up completely for me though. I understand why you do it."

"If you understand why I drank, then you should understand why I quit," he said.

"I do."

Nothing more needed to be said about it. He felt confident that he wouldn't face inquisitive accusatory stares from those blue eyes if he enjoyed a beer with Sam once in a while. But honestly, he knew their time together might not last long and he wanted to experience everything with a clear mind, both good and bad. He knew their chances of a tragic end were pretty high.

"So…" Dean cleared his throat. "It's been days since we had time alone like this…"

"Yes," agreed Castiel, though he didn't seem to get the change in Dean's tone.

"Don't you think we could find something else to do to pass the time other than watching prancing girls in leotards?"

The angel's blue eyes shifted to his face again, so sweetly questioning and inexperienced. He blinked as if the pieces clicked into place. "Oh. You mean… that."

"That," Dean chuckled.

Sitting back on his folded legs, Dean passed his hands from the tops of Castiel's wings along their paths to the edge of the bed. They hung to the floor, not that Dean could reach that far. He thought he felt the muscles beneath the black feathers tense under his touch. He recognized that tenseness. It felt the same as someone touching his thigh a little too close to the promised land. Learning all of Castiel's little quirks and signals through the body language in his wings was probably weird to anyone else but Dean wouldn't change a thing about it. He curled his fingers into the blanket of feathers and combed the muscular flesh beneath, causing Castiel's spine to stretch a bit as if overcome by chills.

Feeling bolder, Dean tilted forward and nuzzled the side of his face in one of the wings. It seemed the angel appreciated the attention as he leaned back into Dean's chest and kissed his lips. Castiel's ever-present coarse stubble rubbed against Dean's softer face and he allowed himself to succumb to being aroused by that sensation. Ordinarily it would have made him feel ‘gay' for sure, but being with the angel taught him daily to let go of labels and stereotypes.

The freedom he felt in deeply kissing Castiel, feeling his stubble, tasting the hot wetness of his mouth, and rolling tongues together - he stopped worrying about being perceived as less than a man by loving a man. Sweet floral scents filled his nose in a cloud rising from the wing pressed between them. He broke the kiss suddenly and stared at the wing.

"Dean?" Castiel sounded dark the way he did before they made love the last time.

"I think … I think your wings smell like roses," he murmured in surprise.

The angel nodded as if it came as everyday news to him. "You never smelled it before?"

"No. What the hell is it?"

"Me." It sounded as if Dean should have understood just by that explanation alone. Castiel squinted. "Every angel's true form bears the aroma of roses. When humans witness miracles, they often report smelling roses as well. The church teaches them it's Mother Mary, but it could actually be any angel, including her."

That confused Dean even more. "Mary as in the Virgin? Jesus' mother?"

"Yes, partially." Castiel smiled patiently. "If angels had a mother in the sense you understand the word, it would be her. She was first among my kind. God gave her dominion over nurturing our skills and some aspects of our appearance. Remember I told you our wings are all different and individual to the angel. Mother Mary chooses wings for each one. And as all mothers do, she wanted us all to have something of her, so we carry the scent of her grace." He studied Dean for a long moment. "It's a bit like your mother passing her light eyes and hair to you."

"So the Virgin Mary's your mother and God's your father," Dean repeated in disbelief.

"Yes," he affirmed in unwavering patience.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Dean struggled to grasp the enormity of that information. He sometimes forgot Castiel wasn't this six foot tall scruffy man in an ill-fitting business suit. His angel saw every corner of the universe, watched mankind evolve from God's divine spark on a young and hostile planet, and never felt emotion until recently - until he pulled Dean out of hell and pieced his body and soul back together.

Now the information sank in that Mary was the first angel - his mother - and Castiel was, for all intents and purposes, an abandoned child. It was one thing to be abandoned by his father. Dean knew that all too well. But being abandoned by his beloved mother would have broken him beyond repair. No wonder Castiel clung to him so fiercely all this time. Dean was the only one who forgave him when he made mistakes, pushed him to think for himself, taught him to fight for freedom, and loved him in spite of his flaws. Castiel's own mother couldn't even do that for him. She was a sainted figure all over the planet, but where was she while her children fought and killed each other? Where was God, for that matter? How could a mother stand by and do nothing while her son repeatedly suffered the way Castiel did?

Dean braced his hands on his thighs, kneeling on the bed behind the angel in an increasingly angry state. He suddenly felt rather small and insignificant in the scheme of things when he thought of how much Castiel survived over thousands of years.

"Dean." The angel faced him and flipped back the trench coat so he could straddle the hunter's thick thighs. He grasped Dean's face, forcing him to look up into his affectionate blue eyes. "You are neither small nor insignificant. You are The Righteous Man. We saved billions of innocent lives because you refused any other course than what your good conscience dictated." He traced Dean's lower lip under the pad of his thumb. "I still think it's worth dying for - to feel and to think for myself. I never had those things before you. My mother and father…" His eyes darkened with emotion, on the verge of tears. Castiel pursed his lips and swallowed hard. "…My mother and father are gone but I'm not alone anymore. You and Sam are my family now."

The glisten rimming Castiel's eyes surprised Dean. It looked like tears but the liquid seemed reddish. Tinged with blood. "You're crying," he whispered more in astonishment than judgment. He reached up and swiped a thumb under the angel's eye. A mixture of salty, clear human tears and droplets of angel blood stained his thumb. "I know you want your real family back, Cas. It sucks and it's okay to say it sucks. But I'm glad you finally understand we're family too."

A smile twitched his lips. "But Dean, when are you going to understand that you're not small and insignificant?"

"Shut up and kiss me," said Dean through a widening smirk.

He didn't want to talk anymore. That much talking about feelings was unusual for him as it was, not that he didn't trust Castiel with that part of him, but Dean Winchester was a man of action and always would be. Fingers curled into his thick dark hair and their mouths meshed into one entity, long since familiar with each other's tastes, dips, and curves. The one thing Dean hadn't grown accustomed to were the butterflies in his stomach whenever Castiel touched him. Kissing him in ways that even the demon Meg hadn't dared sent the butterflies into a rage that radiated through Dean's body. His hand fell from the dark hair along equally dark stubble and pulled him closer by the neck.

"Dean," breathed Castiel as he broke away, "what broke the barrier to allow you to know my scent?"

Heat licked Dean's face. He couldn't answer that question, though he remembered his thoughts at the moment it happened. Saying it out loud made him feel ridiculously bashful but he didn't understand it. He avoided looking at Castiel, a defensive half-smile lifting his mouth.

Castiel's head ducked to the side in an attempt to find Dean's eyes.

"I … I can't, Cas."

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing."

"I don't understand."

Of course he didn't understand. Very little embarrassed Castiel, except maybe the night Dean found out he was a virgin. Dean sighed deeply. It wasn't a big deal, he scolded himself. Just be a man and say what's on your mind.

"Okay, here it is." He nervously rubbed his hands together. It didn't help that Castiel straddled his lap so close that all he breathed was his scent, which was, in fact, unique and intoxicating. "You kissed me and I know we've kissed a million times already—"

"—Forty-seven kisses—"

"—What?" Dean blinked.

"We have kissed forty-seven times." Castiel's full lips smiled subtly.

The fact that he counted each kiss didn't seem entirely unexpected for a celestial being, yet Dean warmed internally with the endearing nature of his inherent innocence. He killed like a fucking warrior but encountering each of their new experiences together peeled back another thin layer of sweet innocence that seemed so very human.

"Okay," Dean continued, "we've kissed forty-seven times but I still feel…" This was the hard part. "I still sometimes feel like, ‘Oh this is gay - it's wrong - I shouldn't be doing this with a dude,' but I do it anyway because I want to. So it's like I'm torn. I'm not gay but I'm with you."

Castiel's head tilted. "You're not gay. I have no gender. Even if you were gay, it's not wrong."

"I know, I know. I'm sleeping with this though." Dean's hand patted Castiel's chest to emphasize that the vessel was male. "So sometimes it's been hard to get my head around that. But today when you kissed me, it was different. I stopped giving a shit."

"Good." Castiel nodded but he didn't seem to quite follow.

"Right. It's friggin great. Kissing you is, well, it's friggin hot like everything else we do." A short nervous laugh escaped his chest. "So I'm kissing you and I realize I don't care what this looks like to other people anymore because I'm happy. And you turn me on, Cas. A lot. This feels so good." Dean rubbed Castiel's stubble under his fingers. "That's … that's what happened. I was thinking how free and happy I was, and then feeling your peach fuzz on my face was getting me hard, and … and it happened. Roses."

The angel said nothing but a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. His blue eyes actually twinkled and Dean's stomach dropped with anticipation. He smiled back but he still felt bashful about saying it out loud.

"Self-acceptance is one of the most difficult barriers to break. I should have known you would break the difficult barriers first. It's in your nature." He leaned close and brushed the hunter's lips with his own. His voice lowered like honey sliding off a spoon. "I was going to offer to look for a female vessel if it made you happier."

"No," Dean blurted, surprising even himself. "I know you this way. Don't go jumping into any new meat suits."

Castiel smiled again. He was doing that a lot lately. "As you wish, Dean. What were you saying about my peach fuzz again?"

Dean blushed. He fucking blushed. What the hell? Stifled laughter bubbled in him and he looked away again. The angel grasped his face so he couldn't look away though. Tortuously slow, he rubbed his cheek across Dean's jaw line. The scraping of each stiff dark hair sent Dean's nerve endings into overdrive. He sucked in a sharp breath and instantly slid his hands up Castiel's thighs. Their mouths found each other like magnetic attraction they couldn't fight. A groan passed into Castiel's lips. Free, yes, Dean was free.

The blur of clothes ripping off and their careless discarding all over the room hardly registered for Dean. All he knew were Castiel's hands planing over his chest and abdomen, followed soon by his innocent mouth exploring Dean's body. It seemed the angel dragged his face more deliberately down Dean's chest, leaving a path of redness where his rough facial hair rubbed. The hunter had no idea why he found the mixture of soft, full lips and harsh, scratching stubble so arousing, but he fell back on the bed and gave himself over to it.

As he fell back, his swollen cock slapped against his belly and the angel wasted no time in reaching down for loose, slow strokes. Castiel only stopped long enough to lick his palm and grab hold of Dean again, so controlled and so steady. Rippling pleasure coursed through Dean with each pass over his length and twist at his head, culminating in short gasps and moans from his lips.

Almost as an afterthought, Castiel's free hand flicked in the air and the deadbolt on the motel room door instantly locked. Even though Sam had a key card, he wouldn't be able to get past the deadbolt. Castiel clearly meant business.

"I wanna teach you something new," whispered Dean as he rolled them over so the angel was on his back.

The sight of Castiel beneath him, teaching himself to jerk Dean's cock, stilled his soul and jolted his body in such distracting power that he nearly forgot his plan. Maybe the angel's vessel wasn't built like a gym rat but he was solid and bigger than most men. His toned chest and arms went well with the raven wings spread out beneath him. Muscles defined sharply as the years passed and he looked stronger that day than he did when they first met. Stunning black wings stretched across the bed to the floor and feathers tickled Dean's knees where he straddled his angel's hips. There were so many things Dean still had to teach him and he wanted to take his time.

Pulling his hand away, the hunter and the angel's legs scissored together and their pelvises locked like puzzle pieces. Dean's hands braced on the bed over Castiel's shoulders and he stared intently into those blue eyes as their hips instinctively rocked in time with each other. Castiel's eyes fluttered and he moaned, hands slowly clawing up and down Dean's spine. Precum leaked from both and slicked the hypersensitive heads of their cocks. Dean went dizzy with pleasure.

Back and forth, their rigid cocks slid against each other in bursts of friction and waves of aching so addictive that they could have ridden it into a pair of wicked orgasms. Dean kept himself in check, though, wanting it to last. His hips rolled smoothly, almost in a lazy pace. The angel didn't seem as patient as he began jerking up against him. A long, wet, slow kiss poured into Castiel's mouth, completely pinned under Dean's body. His angel had to learn that sometimes the slow burn ignited the most explosive orgasms. His angel had to learn a lot of things and only he would be the teacher.

"Dean, _ohh_ ," Castiel moaned as he drew a leg up tightly around Dean's hip, adding extra friction. Again, he attempted quickening beneath him.

Wordlessly, Dean gripped Castiel's hips and pinned him too the mattress. Flames of protest shot through Castiel's hooded eyes but he watched as Dean slid down the bed, kissing an erratic path of wetness down his chest. Lightly flicking his tongue over a nipple sent Castiel arching off the bed and sucking in a tight breath. Thoroughly pleased with himself and the power he had over his celestial being, Dean kissed is way down Castiel's flat, toned stomach.

He had never sucked a man's cock before but he knew what he liked and he wanted to please this person he loved. A moment of hesitation and Dean went for it, lapping a flat tongue along the underside to the most sensitive spots. Castiel raised up on his elbows and bit his lip with a litany of groans mixed with Dean's name caught between sounding like lust and prayers. Dean's hand grasped the base of his cock and he sank his mouth onto him until Castiel's hips bucked, nearly jamming down his throat. He held the angel down with his free arm and sucked a wet, humming rhythm in time with Castiel's dark, gravely voice. Faster he went, head bobbing, and he felt fingers grab his hair in desperation.

Just before he pushed Castiel too far, he pulled back and gazed smugly at the parted lips, dazed blue eyes, and ragged breathing overtaking him. He couldn't wait any longer. A couple of lazy tugs on his own throbbing cock spiked his arousal. He could have gotten off to simply looking at Castiel nearly taken apart piece by piece, naked, and at his mercy, but he waited. Everything stored away in his memory with a distant notion that time wasn't on their side.

"Cas, you're so fucking beautiful," murmured Dean as he leaned over him and aggressively kissed his neck. "I think it's time for you to take charge."

Before Dean realized what happened, Castiel disappeared from under him and left an empty space on the bed. He twisted around on his knees and found the naked angel kneeling behind him with the bottle of cheap lube that had been carefully hidden in his bag. And his bag, he noticed, looked like it erupted all over the dresser. Castiel accomplished all of that in about a second.

"Really? Cheating with angel mojo? Blasphemer," he teased.

Castiel warmed a blob of lube in his hands exactly as he'd seen Dean do it the first time they made love. "Dean, I crossed the line of blasphemy a long time ago," he replied with a hint of pride in his voice.

He slid behind Dean, chest to back, and kissed across his shoulder, along the curve of his neck, and sucked a bit of skin below his ear. That sent a hot rush of blood through his body straight to a jolt of need in his cock. He leaned back against Castiel, eyes slipping closed, and feeling the angel's slick hand begin a rough stroking rhythm. He hissed and groaned at Castiel jerking him from behind.

Castiel's other hand worked between them. At first he seemed to rub his own cock in time with Dean's, but suddenly Dean felt his hand sneaking under his ass. Momentarily, he froze, having never really given attention to that part of himself before, but the way Castiel crashed into an intense orgasm when it was done to him intrigued the hunter.

"Easy, Cas," he whispered through stuttering breaths.

"I got you, Dean," the angel replied, parroting his own phrase.

A finger circled his entrance and he pushed himself to relax, to just let it happen. Sparks of pleasure ignited as Castiel pushed a slick finger in, giving him time to adjust and loosen. A slow pace began to feel good as if Dean didn't expect it. A second and third finger stretched him further and he found himself pushing back and getting lost in it. And then Castiel curled a finger just enough to press a bundle of nerves Dean knew existed but had never felt. Sharply he moaned and rocked to find that electricity again. Castiel complied and made two, then three passes. He felt himself on a freight train speeding toward coming all over the angel's other hand.

Just like that, Castiel's fingers left him. Dean barely breathed, vaguely aware of the lube lid popping again. He didn't dare look back. Something about not knowing was intensely erotic.

He felt Castiel slide closer until their bodies pressed flush against each other. A hand gripped Dean's hip and the other hand guided them to join, slowly, as to not cause pain. Castiel filled Dean with his cock millimeter by millimeter until he bottomed out with a deep, breathy moan. The hunter could tell the angel wanted to be fast and rough about it, but restrained himself to spare any possible pain. The slow burn, the slow rolling hips grew into dizzying, spiraling bolts and shots through his body.

Dean leaned forward and gripped the headboard. The change in angle intensified the pleasure, rubbing more directly on that needy bundle of nerves, and he no longer required a gentle touch. As much as he pushed, Castiel pulled from his hips. The pushing apart and pulling together quickened, turned rougher, and hurdled Dean further into unintelligible moans and murmurings.

Castiel anchored himself to Dean by grabbing his shoulder. For a celestial being with little physical experience, he learned quickly, and Dean felt himself coming apart in his hands. The angel reached around his waist again, grabbing his cock in short, slick jerking motions as they fucked harder than they had before. Dean became dizzy and overwrought with sensation.

"Shit, Cas," he hissed, "I'm gonna—"

Before he could even say it, a wickedly delicious spasm of rawness ripped him apart. His head flung back with the force of it and a nearly inhuman series of moans left his lungs. Thick, white ropes of come erupted all over Castiel's hand, the bed, and Dean's stomach.

The sight of his lover being ripped apart and put back together again shot Castiel over the edge. He slung over Dean and groaned in a rough tone, his body jerking forcefully, spilling into the previously untested channel. His hips curled tightly against Dean, almost as if trying to brand him from the inside, and in the last tremors, grace from his mouth bit the back of his shoulder. Angelic grace marked the hunter inside and out. He felt the glow, the heat, and the celestial tingle unlike anything else he'd ever felt.

Dean fell across his stomach with arms and legs sprawled. He was so worn out that he didn't even care about landing in his own wet spot. Castiel laid over him in a tangle of limbs and shrouded him in silken black wings. They hid from the world for long silent moments.

Finally, the angel spoke in a hazy voice. "I know now why people can't live without love. I thought romantic love was a weakness. I was indifferent to it."

"So was I," Dean replied honestly, in a far away tone. He turned his head over and faced Castiel. "We can't hide here forever, you know."

"I know." The angel may have known it but his wings bound tighter around Dean, possibly in defiance.

A sudden wave of protectiveness consumed Dean and his hand curled around Castiel's cheek. Relaxed blue eyes looked back at him, still so innocent despite the infinite things he'd witnessed and done that would have made anyone else cold or unfeeling. Even among inhuman creatures, Castiel was a rare thing to behold.

"I'm gonna gank anything that comes after us," he promised. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course, Dean," Castiel replied, "but this might be bigger than we can handle. You have to understand that we might not win."

"I don't accept that."

Castiel pulled Dean's hand from his cheek to his mouth and kissed his palm. "The last angel that attacked me - the one you smited - he wasn't sent to bring me in for a talk or a reprimand. He was sent to kill me. He probably had orders to kill you too." He kissed Dean's knuckles as if hoping to soften it. "Sometime we will have to discuss how far we're willing to go. We will have to discuss each other's final wishes. It's reality."

"It's not reality yet. Not today."

Sadness rose to the surface in Castiel's eyes and Dean knew he was more afraid than he let on, but he decided not to push it. They both knew they were just three against millions, and Sam never asked to be part of it. But if anyone could find a way out of it, Dean knew it was them. They had stopped the apocalypse, put Lucifer back in the cage, stopped the Leviathans, and they even brought Castiel back from the brink of destruction in becoming God.

"I'm asking you to have faith in me," he said earnestly.

"Dean, I do have faith in you."

"Okay." The hunter lifted off the pillow and planted a possessive kiss on his angel. "Then we're going to be okay."

He smiled faintly, clearly wanting to believe Dean, and maybe that was enough for the moment. "I touched you with more grace," he admitted. "I didn't intend to do it. I suppose you could say I lose control of my senses."

"Shit happens." Dean shrugged with a little smile of amusement. "Maybe sharing your grace will work to our advantage. I smited that dick."

"Too much grace could kill you though." The way he said it sounded so final. "I need to learn to be more careful."

"I'm tough. I can take it." Dean shrugged indifferently. "C'mon. We need to clean up before Sammy starts pounding on the door. Brothers don't need to see the afterglow."

Afterglow, Dean realized, had an entirely different meaning as he got up, passed the mirror, and saw bright bluish-white teeth marks in his shoulder. A lighter, hazy mark filled up the center of the bite as if Castiel bit down and then breathed grace into his skin. Dean reached to the back of his shoulder and fingertips brushed the teeth marks. The bite felt sore but tingled at the same time.

"Is this like a vampire thing? Are you turning me into an angel?" he asked curiously.

"No," Castiel vehemently denied as he searched for his pants. "The human body filters it out over time. Only God can create new angels. Too much grace in one shot can diminish my strength, though, and giving you enough will kill you." His eyes darkened in fear. The clothing drooped in his hands as if memories haunted him.

Dean knelt beside him. "Cas?"

"Dean, it's … it's a form of torture." Castiel stared at the floor and even his wings deflated a bit. "My grace is a source of pleasure for us because we love one another. Being touched by grace from another angel is excruciatingly painful for humans, even more so when the adrenalin of fight or flight has been released. I have witnessed humans tortured with injections for information or obedience and…" Reddish glistening filled his eyes again. "I know them, Dean. They'll do it to you too."

The news came as no surprise to Dean but he felt Castiel's haunted memories. He cleared his throat, grasping the angel's hand. "They have to catch me first."


	6. Surrender Your Faith Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two hunters and the fugitive angel are up to their necks in Biblical lore trying to find any loophole that will save Castiel and Dean from being hunted and executed for breaking Heaven's law. Dean lets Sam in on the secret that the Virgin Mary is really the mother of all angels and he recklessly decides they're going to summon her for help if God insists on being a deadbeat dad. Just as they start making progress on the mysteries of Mary, an entire company of Heaven's soldiers surrounds the motel. They give Castiel an ultimatum - come with them or they'll smite the entire building along with the Winchesters and dozens of innocent human lives. Castiel begs Dean to find Mary before they kill him. Faith has never been easy for Dean but he needs to believe in himself if he's going to find his angel in Heaven, right?

The first time it happened, Dean watched Castiel gank The Little Mermaid. The second time it happened, he woke himself up with the foreign words spilling from his mouth. The third time it happened, the room froze. Sam and Castiel tilted their heads in unison. Dean hadn't even realized he did it again.

“What the hell was that?” Sam demanded from the floor, surrounded by piles of books.

“That was Enochian. Perfect Enochian.” Castiel stood and approached Dean with a studious look in his eyes, as if he read something in the hunter that people couldn't see. “I heard you do this before in your sleep. I thought it was because I took energy from your soul.”

Eyes narrowed, Dean put down his book. He didn't like the way they looked at him at all. “What are you talking about? You asked me when the pizza was coming and I said an hour. They’re backed up.”

“…In Enochian.” The angel perched on the end of the bed.

“I did?” He really didn't hear himself say anything different.

The younger Winchester peered curiously at Dean from the floor. His attention shifted to Castiel. “What’s this about?”

“I believe sharing my grace is giving him some of my knowledge as well,” Castiel theorized.

“I thought you weren't doing that anymore,” Sam said to Dean. “Remember? Demon blood? Addiction?”

“It’s not the same,” replied Dean evenly. “I don’t feel any different. I barely think about it after it’s done. It wouldn't make a difference to me if it never happened again.”

“Except you’re smiting angels and speaking fluent Enochian.” Concern and disbelief aged Sam’s face. It was hard to look at him when he did that. “If it doesn't make a difference to you, then why are you doing it?”

“I’m … not … doing it,” Dean replied haltingly. He glanced at Castiel with a flicker of a smirk and a shrug.

The angel, true to form, never understood human boundaries of privacy. “It’s my fault. I can’t control it when—”

“—Oh God, I don’t need to know!” S am threw up his hands in a defensive posture.

Laughter filled Dean, a rare thing those days. “Sammy, don’t ask the questions if you don’t want to know. I don’t care anymore. I’m sick as fuck of feeling like this thing is wrong from every other part of the universe. I need you in my corner.”

“I am in your corner.” He held up a pile of books. “Would I be reading every piece of lore I can find on angels if I wasn't in your corner?”

“I know, Sammy. I appreciate it.” Pushing back his own stack of books, Dean got off the bed and moved to the window covered in warding symbols. He cracked the window open enough to get some air. “Nobody give me any shit for this now. I quit drinking. You give me this.” A pack of Marlboro Lights and a lighter emerged from his pocket and he lit one of the white cylinders. He had occasionally smoked in bars before, but the frequency and craving increased a lot since he quit drinking. It gave his hands something to do. It tempered his anxiety.

“I can’t believe you conned me into buying those things for you. I’m not saying anything about how you’re slowly killing yourself and the rest of us—” Sam stopped short, eyes on Castiel briefly. “—Well, me anyway.”

“Everybody’s gotta die sometime.” Dean sucked a long, soothing drag off his smoke and rested his hand on the window so most of the smoke would drift outside. As long as he and Castiel were being hunted, he needed some kind of release. Booze dulled his senses too much. At least cigarettes allowed his agility and mind to remain in tact. He stared outside, at the steady rain washing the dingy old parking lot. Absently, he reminded himself to pay up for another week in motel jail.

A book slamming shut on the floor broke the silence in the room. “Nothing useful in this one. Just lore we already know about Nephilim being the reason for the abomination of angel on human love. Nothing about how to get around the ban.” He slid another book from the stack and tossed it at Castiel. “Make yourself useful.”

“Try looking into the Virgin Mary,” Dean made the quiet suggestion without turning away from the window. He pulled another drag from his cigarette.

“Come again?” Sam said.

“Dean—” Castiel tried to intervene.

“—She’s his mother. Find a way for me to summon her. Somehow. There has to be something on it somewhere.” He didn't like it. He didn't want to know the mother who abandoned Castiel, as far as he was concerned. It had to be done though and she was the only one with the power and influence to guarantee their safety.

Dean heard Sam gape at Castiel. Sometimes his expressions were so predictable and animated that Dean sensed them without even looking at him.

“It’s true, Sam.” Pages turned. Castiel didn't want to think about it either, Dean knew, and he looked through a book so he wouldn't have to fully confront it. “Mother Mary was the first angel. She has dominion over nurturing our skills and certain aspects of our appearance, like wings and our scent. We all smell like roses in our true forms - inherited from her the way you inherit things from your mother.”

“O-okay.” Sam struggled to get his head around it the way Dean had struggled the previous day when he was told. “Um… if she’s your mother, can’t you just call out for her?”

“I have, many times,” the angel said in an overly monotone voice as if concealing emotion. “I haven’t seen Mother Mary since just after the civil war. The first one. Michael and Lucifer feuding shattered her, as it would any mother. God disappeared and took her with Him. No angel has seen them since, except the occasional message through Joshua. I call out to her, especially now, but … no. Nothing.”

Anger pricked the back of Dean’s neck. He heard the subtle inflections of pain in Castiel's voice that were probably lost on Sam and his need to protect and defend boiled. He watched his little brother grow up without their mother and knew it was the worst thing any son could go through - worse than not having a father. It almost seemed predictable that God was a deadbeat father, but a mother running away rather than helping her children seemed unforgivable to Dean. Yet there they were needing her help. He didn't care if he got killed in the process. He only worked to ensure Castiel's survival.

“We find a way to drag her ass down here to us by force if she won’t come voluntarily,” Dean said darkly, rubbing out his cigarette butt in the ash tray.

A silent pause filled the room. Books near Sam shifted as his brain shifted courses of research. “I’m on it, man.” He spoke as if knowing he couldn't talk Dean out of it but he was never willing to let his brother go at these things alone. “Cas, if you know anything about …” Saying it seemed to dumbfound him. “…about your mother at all, now’s the time to speak up.”

“Technically she is an angel, and every angel is subject to a specific summoning spell. The key is finding which ingredients will draw her out like we've done with other angels.”

Dean returned to his work corner on the bed, choosing to ignore the way Castiel separated the other angels from himself in his speech. Already, he seemed to think he was banished from his family, disowned the way Dean would have been if he’d brought boyfriends home instead of girlfriends. Watching Castiel drift closer to total discouragement drove him closer to it as well. He mentally shook himself. One of them had to be the backbone holding this thing up.

“You’re still an angel, Cas. Don’t quit on that yet,” he said in a low tone, purposefully using his new Enochian instincts.

Blue eyes met his rather mournfully and filled with hesitation. When he spoke his native language in return, Dean had no trouble understanding it. “Dean, it’s starting. I feel like my plug has been pulled, as you would say. The baby in a trench coat.”

“They cut you off? When?”

“This morning at dawn. My power will be gone before the week is done.”

“Shit,” Dean cursed under his breath, reverting to English.

An irritated sigh sounded from the floor. Sam ran a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. “New rule! No Enochian whispering unless little brother Sammy has a translator.”

“My apologies. Of course that’s rude.” Castiel reclined back on his elbows. The increasing human mannerisms unnerved Dean and now he knew why it was happening. “My angelic powers have been revoked. It’s not unexpected but it happened at dawn. I’m slowly losing strength. It’ll be gone by the end of the week if we don’t find some leverage with Heaven.”

“They’re making a move soon if they've yanked your batteries,” Dean surmised aloud. “Fine by me. I’m itching to gank a few dicks with wings. Asshole cowards have to cut off your juice to come near you. It’s funny, really. They’re afraid of you.”

“Perhaps. They have the advantage now though.”

Sam shrugged. “Not necessarily. You…” He made a face like something tasted bad. “…You did whatever you did with Dean, which means he has some of your juice—your _grace_ —Christ, you know what I mean. If he’s still speaking Enochian, he’s still able to smite them. They might not be prepared for that.”

“They know I smited the ginger dick. It’s worth a shot though.”

The three of them settled into quiet research. Castiel and Sam each leafed through books that detailed manifestations of angels and the Virgin Mary on Earth. Lourdes, primarily, it seemed. Dean never particularly enjoyed books, preferring the internet, and lounged on his side across the bed. He read first that some of the faithful referred to Mary as the Queen of Heaven, somewhat hinting at what Castiel told him. He then looked for any symbols connected to her. On motel stationary, he scribbled gold, lilies, ferns, ivy, mystic roses, irises, pears, almonds, periwinkles, pansies, and fleur-de-lys. From another search result, he scribbled more items of interest: cedar of Lebanon, olives, and mirrors. Most sources seemed to agree that all of those things were connected to Mary. Dean deduced that some combination of ingredients would be found in her summoning spell.

“So get this,” Sam said after an hour of silence, “the one commonality in all of Mary’s appearances on Earth is that she only appears to those she’s talking to. Like if she showed up right now for Dean, I wouldn't see her at all. I’d only see Dean talking to air.”

“How does that help us?” asked Dean.

“Well, if you see her, then you know for sure she’s there for you.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded and tapped his paper pad with the pen. “I got a list of all plants, fruits, and objects associated with her. We just need to figure out which combination is right.”

“Dean, let me see that,” said Castiel, taking the list. His blue eyes scanned it quickly. “Most likely, the gold, mystic roses, cedar, and olives are part of working the spell, judging by other spells I know. It won’t be easy getting the cedar from Lebanon. I don’t know if I can travel that far anymore. If I get there and I can’t get back—”

“—Don’t worry about it, Cas. We’ll find a way.” Sam took the list from him with an earnest brotherly smile.

“Save your strength,” added Dean quietly.

“I’m sorry I can’t help more, Dean.” Lines deepened sorrowfully around his eyes. He seemed fatigued.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” The hunter’s hand slid over the motel blankets and grasped his angel’s fingers, pulling them to his mouth. He’d never shown any affection in front of Sam before but it didn't matter to him anymore.

Knocking on the motel room door set the three of them into alert. Castiel handed his spare angel blade to Dean, who then nodded for Sam to answer the door.

“Pizza guy,” he said, looking through the peephole.

The moment Sam opened the door, a blast of light threw him back a body length across the room. Quick reflexes hurled Sam to his feet again almost in the same moment, just as Dean slammed the door. It bounced open again with a sweep of the pizza man’s hand. He never said a word but his eyes glowed the way Dean had seen Castiel's glow when he powered up on angel mojo. Despite his attempts to hurt them, the angel disguised as a pizza man couldn't cross the threshold thanks to their warding symbols.

“Dean, stop,” said Castiel. His eyes narrowed beyond the man in the doorway.

Dean looked back at his angel, confused, and followed his eyes outside. A ring of angels surrounded the motel, three bodies deep, and they blocked every exist. Easily there could have been two or three hundred of them - the number previously under Castiel's command. Heaven had sent an entire company of soldiers to handle this one angel. Dean’s throat went dry as he backed up between his angel and his brother, the long silver blade gripped tightly, ready for a fight.

“Matthew,” said Castiel, breaking the tension.

“It’s time, Castiel. Come with me now,” Matthew replied in the pizza man’s meat suit.

“No.”

“Castiel—”

“—I said no.”

It was hard to take a teenage delivery kid seriously until looking into his glowing eyes. His voice remained eerily calm. “What choice do you have? This building is surrounded. Ariel’s command, you know. The captain has defected, so she has been promoted.” Matthew smirked as if knowing the pain that knowledge inflicted. “You’re not getting away alive. None of you. So you come with me back home now, voluntarily, and I won’t explode your pretty fornicator where he stands.”

Castiel squinted and tilted his head slightly. “Why am I going home?”

“Debriefing,” said Matthew, a little too pleased with the word. “You have five minutes to come out voluntarily or this entire rat hole will be vaporized where it stands.”

A cold wet gush of wind blasted the room as the door slammed shut on its own. Stunned silence filled the gaps between each man for a long moment as they grappled with being surrounded. Dean's mind spiraled and he unconsciously flipped the angel blade from one hand to the other.

“Zap us out of here,” he said to Castiel.

“I can’t. I’m not strong enough for the three of us.”

“Leave me,” volunteered the younger brother. “Get out of here. Hide.”

“No, Sammy. I’m not leaving without all of us.”

“Dean! Get him out of here!”

“They’ll kidnap you, Sammy. They’ll use you as a bargaining chip to worm us out into the open. You don’t know what they’ll do to you.” But Dean had an idea after what Castiel told him yesterday about injections of grace for purposes of torture.

“Both of you stop.” The deepened baritone of Castiel's voice hung thickly over them. He looked out of the window, hesitantly at first, and then drew in a deep breath. His wings inflated and grew with the deep breath, looking as if he psyched himself up to face the company. Reluctance filled his eyes. He gazed back at Dean, saying his goodbyes without uttering a word.

“Cas,” whispered Dean, shaking. “No.”

“I have to go with them, Dean,” the angel murmured. He tried to soothe the hunter when he was the one giving himself up to the unknown.

“No,” Dean pleaded. Bile churned in his stomach and crawled up his throat at the thought of Castiel giving himself over to those dicks, probably knowing they’d kill him. There was something he had to do. His brain reeled through four hundred scenarios at once but they all ended in blood and destruction.

Vaguely, he felt Sam place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

His angel shrugged off his trench coat and suit jacket. At his throat, he undid his tie as if he’d done it every day of his life. He shed every possible layer of defense. Dean knew it. He knew he was waving the white flag at the angels. Once Castiel stripped down to his white shirt, he approached Dean and braced his warm hands along the hunter’s jaw. He forced him to hold his gaze.

“Cas, let me fight with you.” Although Dean’s voice reduced to smallness and raw fear, he spoke in determined words. His hands circled the angel’s wrists, having dropped the blade with a clatter on the floor.

Closing his eyes, Castiel pursed his lips and shook his head as if it was the hardest thing for him to do. “You’re an intelligent man, Dean. You know three against three hundred is suicide.” His voice sounded raw. Reddish liquid streaked down one cheek.

“You wouldn't be alone,” he argued. “We go out together, guns blazing, like I always said.”

“They’ll leave you alone for a while if they have me. This is the right thing to do for you and Sam. Find my mother, Dean. She’s our only chance.” The acute serious color of his eyes shook Dean. “Please do as I ask this time. Please.”

He couldn't talk him out of it. Their five minutes was almost spent and soon the dicks would come to collect. Of course he knew Castiel was right - fighting would be suicide. Something about that didn't seem so bad when faced with the alternative though. But then he thought about Sam having to live without both of them. He couldn't do that to his brother. At the same time, it crushed his chest and broke his soul to let Castiel walk out there - walk into probable execution.

The weight of it all crumbled Dean into a trembling mess against his angel. Arms locked around Castiel's waist and shoulders. He buried his face against the crook of his neck, shutting his eyes and breathing in the angelic roses and the natural scent of his human body. Tears squeezed from his eyes and wet the white dress shirt's shoulder.

"I need you to have faith in me," Castiel whispered in his ear.

Dean couldn't say anything but he nodded. If he spoke, he would break into open tears and that wasn't how he wanted this to end. Not like a sniveling girl on her boyfriend's shoulder.

He felt the angel's chin lift from his shoulder. "Sam, don't lose focus," he said in a stronger voice. "Don't let him lose focus either."

"There's a way out of this, Cas. We're gonna find it." Sam sounded so much more certain of that fact than Dean felt.

The angel reached around himself and unlocked Dean's grip. Pushing Dean away brought such deep lines of anguish in his face that he suddenly looked twenty years older. And although he pushed the hunter away, his hands lingered along his bare forearms. Dean hadn't bothered with a flannel shirt that day. He squeezed Dean's hands as long as he dared. Time was running out.

Abruptly, as if it took everything in him to leave, Castiel turned his back on the Winchesters and opened the motel room door.

"Cas," blurted Dean, loudly. Desperation edged his voice.

He looked back from the open doorway. The stark contrast in rainy daylight of a crisp white shirt, black raven wings stretching to the floor, silver glowing halo light, watery blue eyes, and his tall, lean body burned into Dean's memory. He looked ethereal. Far more inhuman than he ever remembered, as if the remaining grace coursing from his heart put up a last ditch effort.

"Give 'em hell, babe. Don't let them..." He couldn't say it. The words choked in the threat of new tears that he fought like he fought everything else in life. "Fight them. Remember who you are. You're a soldier. You tore up the script and you're writing your own ending now. Just..." What else could he say? He swallowed back so many things left unspoken between them. Instead, he put it all in repeating, "Give 'em hell, babe."

Castiel lingered. He looked Dean over from head to toe as if memorizing him. He nodded. "Goodbye, Dean."

And then he was gone.

For the longest time, Dean didn't know what to do. He stared at the closed door with the most ridiculous hope that Castiel would come back. The reality of it all avalanched on his shoulders and smashed his chest until he had to sit on the edge of the bed. Sam said nothing, clearly knowing Dean had to work through it alone for the moment. He stood by - silent, supportive, waiting.

The dark suit jacket, tie, and trench coat piled on the floor at Dean's feet. He plucked the cheap blue tie from the pile and threaded it through his fingers.

The sweet aroma of roses lingered in the room.

"Are they gone?" Dean asked, raspy, after a time.

Sam folded his arms over his chest and moved to the window covered in warding symbols. "Yeah, they're gone," he said softly. "Just a maid pushing a cart out there now."

Dean nodded. He dropped the tie and buried his face in his large hands, nearly clawing at his own forehead. "I don't know what to do, Sammy." His voice heightened with tension and reminded him in some distant place of a wounded animal. "This is too big. I can't wrap my head around it. They've got him upstairs and I can't get upstairs unless I'm dead. I don't--" He broke off, feeling himself being ripped apart from the inside. That sense of loss hadn't strangled him in the noose so tightly since Sam jumped into the pit with Michael. But this loss, this unadulterated fear, felt entirely different than losing his brother.

"Look, man, you're gonna stay focused like he wanted. He's basically behind enemy lines. We're his only real chance and we're gonna figure this out because we always do." Sam paused. He leaned down a bit. "Dean, look at me."

His watery red eyes looked up at his brother from the edge of the bed.

"If anyone can do this, it's us," he vowed. "We're gonna get Cas back, Dean. Have faith."

"Faith," Dean scoffed, rubbing his brow. "You know they're gonna kill him. Don't pretend like this isn't happening. I should never have... We should never have... He doesn't think before he does something. I should have known better, stopped it, protected him more..." He rambled, spiraling out of reasonable, logical capability.

"You can't be serious. You're really blaming yourself? For what? For giving in to finding some piece of happiness?" Sam truly seemed exasperated by that idea, as if it personally affected him.

"I gotta get out of here." The words shot out of Dean's mouth before he fully decided on it. He shot to his feet and grabbed the car keys, his cell phone, his wallet, and his cigarettes.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to drive, Sammy."

His brother hesitated. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. Just give me space," he said, not wanting to scare Sam.

Rain pelted Dean as he emerged into the chilly Denver air for the first time in days. He escaped motel jail but at the worst possible price. The Impala waited for him in the parking lot with open arms like an old friend, an old girlfriend, a mother, a sister, a home all in one. Settling into the old familiarity of the driver's seat left Dean still for a moment.

But stillness brought back the agony, so he drove. He drove for hours until the sun disappeared behind the rain clouds into the horizon. Night fell over Colorado, not that Dean noticed much of anything aside from the rumble of his baby's engine and the hypnotic back and forth rhythm of his windshield wipers. Sam called him three times but he never answered the phone. He drove, putting miles between himself and the infuriating grief. Dean never had the ability to confront sorrow. No, he needed to touch the anger again. He needed to find the anger in order to serve Castiel well.

Somewhere near Leadville, the hunter found himself at a bar. He occupied the darkest corner with the hope that the shadows and smoke would hide him from the prying eyes of people wondering who cut that solitary figure. Vague recollections of ordering rum but not drinking it wandered around the table. Damn if he didn't want that drink. He stared at the rum like someone he hated and loved all at once. He didn't even like rum. Castiel did. And he couldn't even drink because he made a fucking promise.

_God damn it._

The anger scratched at him but didn't find its way in yet. He craved it. He tried to curl a finger, beckoning it inside, but he'd closed up so tightly that fear and grief held him hostage.

A woman at the other end of the bar caught his eye. She cowered - a small, flowery, blonde thing who didn't belong there. He watched as a scuzzy biker hit on her no matter how she refused his advances. Perfect. It tugged at him, the itch to fight. Before he knew it, Dean crossed the bar and stared down the biker.

"You that desperate to get laid that you can't find a chick to say yes?" he said darkly.

The biker smirked. "What's it to you, pretty boy?"

"Listen, asshole--" Nope. Dean was done.

He threw his entire body weight behind a solid whipping punch that knocked the biker off his feet. The bar erupted in chaos as the girl screamed and bouncers descended on the scene.  _Damn_ that felt good. For a moment, he caressed that anger inside of him like a long lost lover. A faint smile twitched his mouth even as the bouncers threw him out of the bar by the scruff of his neck. He didn't even care that he paid for an untouched drink.

By the time Dean got on the highway again, his right hand hurt like hell. More than normal. He couldn't grip the steering wheel without horrific pain clamping down on the bones. Driving left-handed, he studied his injury and knew it was broken. Purple, blue, and black bruises already erupted across his knuckles and swelling puffed up the back of his hand.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

He didn't bother to call Sam. Instead, Dean spent the night alone on a gurney with his ass hanging out of a gown in St. Vincent's Hospital. Nurses didn't seem to buy the story of a perfectly sober man breaking his hand in a bar fight but he didn't care. As quickly as he touched the much needed anger, it dissolved into sorrow once again. Two nurses wrapped his hand and wrist in cotton and wet plaster, a sight that would have been a fantasy to the old Dean. The new Dean, however, couldn't be bothered. The women were as attractive to him as broccoli.

Once they went to the station to gather his paperwork, Dean flopped back on the gurney and flung an arm over his eyes.

"Cas," he whispered. "Cas, I'm praying. Give me some sign that you're still alive. Please." He waited. "Focus, Cas. If there's anything in you that still feels me, give me a sign. Anything. Please hold on. Fight those dicks. Don't let them get the best of you."

Dean waited for a sign.


	7. Meet Your New In-Laws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing the possibility that this may be too big for even the great Dean Winchester to overcome, he's breaking down and isolating himself in the Colorado wilderness. A bar fight didn't even help him find his anger again, although it did give him a broken hand. Dean confesses his entire story with Castiel in a prayer to the Virgin Mary, but true to his cockiness, the prayer turns into a threat. Answer him within 48 hours or he swears he'll summon her against her will. On the way back to Denver, he nearly wrecks the Impala as he's overcome by a horrifying vision of Castiel being tortured in Heaven. Despite seeing and physically channeling his angel's agony, at least he knows he's alive. The will to fight makes him rush back to Sam. There, he finds a strange woman calling herself Amina who claims to have been cast out of Heaven along with three other angels for loyalty to Castiel. Can he trust her?

“I don't even know how it happened.” The hunter's lips pulled a long puff of nicotine into his lungs there in the dark foothills of the Rockies. An unopened whiskey bottle sat next to him on the hood of the car, temptation at its finest. ”He was an arrogant little prick. Walking into that barn like that, I didn't know if he was a demon or a shifter or what. He fought like … I dunno … never saw anything like it. He was the most self-assured thing I knew, but there were cracks in him. Little pieces of doubt chipped away the more he hung around Sammy and me. I don't guess I'm a good influence on anyone; human, celestial being, or whatever. I drink too much, I fuck too much - excuse me, _sleep around_ too much - I fight too much, and I wouldn't be me if shit - excuse me, _stuff_ \- wasn't eating at me every day of my life.”

Another drag off the cigarette glowed orange in the night air. “Anyway, I guess I rubbed off on him. He started disobeying, mostly for Sammy and me, but he messed up a lot of stuff too. I didn't know it at the time but teaching him free will was above his pay grade. I didn't get it. He wasn't designed for freedom. He was designed to be an obedient little soldier.” Lips curled back in a grimacing sort of smile. “Sort of like me, I guess. Maybe that's why we screw up so much and never listen to each other. Our parents' leashes were too tight. When we snapped leashes, we ran straight into traffic. One of us usually manages to pull the other out of trouble though. In the bottom of the ninth, he's the one I want coming to bat for me. Him and Sammy.”

Sighing, he flicked the cigarette butt on the ground. “But I can't pull him out by myself this time. Sammy and me - we've done a lot we didn't think was possible, but this, this is different. I feel like I got punched in the gut and I'm still on the ground trying to catch my breath. He needs more help than I know how to give.”

He grabbed the whiskey bottle despite a white plaster cast around his hand and wrist getting in his way. The tone of his voice softened to a level of pleading tenderness, as if speaking to someone else. “I don't wanna do this. If I just knew you were still alive, I could take it.” Closing his eyes, a steady breath passed through him. He put the bottle down again and his voice shifted back to a certain formality he'd been using all along. “The thing is, we weren't playing by the rules. If we had, maybe this wouldn't have happened and he'd still be out there living like he always did. I'm sorry I broke him. I'm sorry I chipped away at his cracks. I'm sorry I destroyed him like I destroy everyone. I'm sorry he's probably dead now because of me. I'm sorry Sammy's gotten roped into something else keeping him from a normal life.”

Stars looked unusually beautiful that night outside of Denver. Tears blurred the hunter's vision but he could still see them. His head tipped back, looking straight up through the evergreen trees, and he willed the black sky to give him some sort of sign. He clung to the last shred of faith.

“Mary,” he continued through a broken voice, “you're supposed to be his mother. He's supposed to be your son. Please, I'm begging you. Don't let him be punished because of me. Everything he does, even when he screws up royally, he's just trying to be good and righteous to mankind. You all were the ones who put him in that position. You all made him watch over the people on this planet. Did you really think he'd go thousands of years without loving one of us? You can't demand perfection out of him if we're all created as imperfect. Is our relationship really such a threat to your kind? He loves. I … yeah, I love him. And I shoulda told him when I had the chance.”

Nothing more could be said, really. Dean Winchester pleaded with the Virgin Mary for most of the second night in seclusion. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the affects of a narcotic painkiller in his system. The broken bones in his hand throbbed. It didn't matter. It bothered him more that he could no longer see the fading grace mark on his wrist inside of the cast. Most of the lighter marks were completely gone. He felt Castiel bleeding out of him in a slow trickle.

Dean climbed off the hood of the Impala and smashed the unopened whiskey bottle against a boulder. Mixing booze and pills, and then driving would almost guarantee a one-way ticket upstairs. Tempting, yes, but there wouldn't be another resurrection. It was better to draw the enemy out onto ground of his own choosing.

Leaning against the driver’s side door, he looked into the sky one more time. “You may have ditched all your kids a long time ago, but if you expect redemption out of people, you oughta try it yourself. I know what it's like growing up without a mother. It's worse for Cas because he knows you're out there somewhere, while mine was killed and I know she’s not coming back. You're choosing to let him suffer. You and I both know you're capable of doing something about it. Now I'm trying this prayer thing for Cas, but I'm gonna be square with you. If you don't answer me in the next forty-eight hours, I'm gonna find a way to summon you whether you like it or not.” He let the promise fill the air and lift toward Heaven. “If you love him at all, you're gonna step up and be his mother. I'm just a man but I love him enough to fight my way up there and keep looking for him until I have proof that he's dead. You just don't quit on people you love. Just look back at everything Sammy and I have done for each other, and Cas and me too, for that matter. The ball's in your court, Mary.”

Dean slammed the Impala door shut and started the engine. Two sleepless nights alone with his baby helped him wrestle his demons enough that he thought he could go back to Denver without punching Sammy or any number of innocent walls. Peace stood so far out on the horizon that he wasn't anywhere near it, but enough focus existed to keep his eye on the prize. He didn't know if Mary even heard him pray to her - or Castiel, for that matter - but he wanted to believe they did. Faith was important to his angel. Damn if he didn't try.

Now that he tried it Castiel's way, he felt fairly certain that it wasn't going to change a thing. Mary disappeared so long ago, and they never found God despite the world descending into the apocalypse, so Dean doubted that his prayer even registered as a blip on her radar. No matter. He watched Castiel summon enough angels and participated enough in it to believe he could summon the queen bee herself. He meant it when he said he didn't give up on the people he loved.

Zeppelin blasted his baby's speakers as the highway pulled him eastward to the capital. He sang a little, remembering a faint smile once as he sang with Sam next to him and Castiel in the back. They had to catch a break sometime. So many things still existed in the world for them to experience - good things.

Scorching pain suddenly ripped through Dean's shoulder with such ferocity that he heard his tires screech on the highway. Instinct alone slammed on the brakes. It felt like his flesh tore wide open and hot lava poured into his veins. The shock and pain made Dean rip his own shirt from the shoulder, and, twisting in his seat, saw Castiel's bite mark on the back of his shoulder glowing so bright that light shined in the car. Sounds of animal pain tore from his throat. Sweat layered his face and chest as quickly as it started.

A trail of bluish-white light filled the nearest vein from his shoulder traveling along his tricep, winding around his bicep, and illuminating every grace mark along the way. Even the marks long since faded reanimated before his eyes until patches of his skin made him resemble a human flashlight. Fire filled his blood but there wasn't a thing he could do but grind his teeth and growl through it as cars honked and weaved around him.

An invisible force thrust Dean back against the driver's seat. Burning centered between his eyes and he saw a long, white, sterile corridor leading to a room behind glass doors. Inside, Castiel was strapped to a steel T-shaped exam table. Metal bands restrained his wrists, his ankles, around his waist, and around each wing. The angel's clothes looked shredded and barely gave him any dignity. Bloody bruises disfigured his face and torso. Enochian symbols had been carved into his flesh and dripped angel blood onto the pristine white floor.

He trembled. A figure circled the head of the table and passed what looked like a pair of large pliers over Castiel's line of vision. Wide, terrified blue eyes darted back and forth looking for any escape but there was no way out.

In Heaven, pliers ripped clumps of those beautiful raven feathers from Castiel's wings. Blood curdling screams spilled from his lungs as if the angel with pliers ripped off one of his arms. Feathers filled the air. As they tore from his flesh, their liquid light died before they hit the floor, like wilting flower petals.

On Earth, Dean’s body wretchedly, painfully curled in the Impala and he listened to himself scream in chorus with Castiel as if the torture was being done to him too. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His world reduced to the primal sensation of pain like a tortured animal.

Just as suddenly as the hurricane hit him, it stopped. The pain, the brightly glowing grace marks, the terrifying vision - it all disappeared in a breath as if it never happened at all. Nearly hyperventilating and covered in sweat through his ripped shirt, Dean flung open the car door and vomited all over the highway. He worried his heart would even explode in panic.

Gulping for air, shaking, he sat upright in the car and pulled the door shut before a passing car ripped it off the frame. He didn't know how but he managed to coast the car to safety on the side of the road.

Somewhere on a stretch of highway in Colorado, Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel and sobbed. No one would ever know for the rest of his life that he sat in his car and sobbed like a baby, bending under the strain and responsibility of constantly rescuing his loved ones. The images and sounds of Castiel being tortured somewhere in Heaven at that moment haunted him. Beneath the shock and anguish, though, anger reached out to Dean. Anger washed over him like a blanket of red. He knew Castiel called out to him with their shared grace, and he was glad for that, because now Dean found his old friend rage again.

A blur of highway sped by his windows as he raced back to Denver, certainly looking like a madman. He intended to make Heaven suffer for every feather, every mark on his flesh, every cry from his throat.

Dean still wore the ripped, sweaty shirt with wild green eyes when he exploded into the motel room yelling, “He's alive, Sammy! I just saw—”

A second body in the room immediately got Dean's fur up and he tensed. She sat on the end of the bed and Sam hoisted himself up on the dresser with his legs dangling to the floor. The minute he saw Dean, though, he jumped off the dresser.

“Dean! Where have you been? What the hell - are you hurt?” His eyes took stock of the cast on his arm and the torn, wild state of the rest of his appearance. “Cas is alive? How do you know?”

“I … I saw him,” Dean replied, quite guarded, his eyes fixed on the brunette woman with familiar blue eyes. “Jesus, Sammy, I'm gone for a day and a half and you're already trolling for chicks? Who are you?”

The woman slumped into her slender hands and dissolved into silent weeping. Confused, Dean suddenly felt like an ogre. He couldn't pinpoint where he had seen her before either. Long dark hair tumbled down her back with chemical golden highlights. She had a full mouth and her blue eyes almost seemed too large for her head. Even as she covered her face with her hands, he still saw flashes of blue between her fingers.

“Sammy?” he said cautiously.

“Dean, this is Amina,” Sam replied with just as much caution. He nudged her arm with a box of Kleenex, which she snatched rather miserably. “Amina knocked on the door yesterday looking like she had been through a storm.”

“Hadn't I?” her lyrical voice rose.

Sam glanced at her in sympathy but there was clearly more to it. “Dean, she was an angel.”

“What? What do you mean _was_?”

The woman stood taller than he guessed and wiped her eyes as a determined restraint smoothed her round face. “You're Dean Winchester, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't go for that blade he gave you. I'm not an angel anymore. I'm on your side.” A used wad of tissue collected stray tears under her eyes. “I was cast out last night. Loyalty to the defector, they said. My vessel is me now, I suppose. But he's my brother. We were fledglings together! What do they expect?” She sank onto the bed again, nearly wailing. “I tried to get to him. I tried! They said I had to punish him to purify myself but I wouldn't do it. Three others were cast out with me but we landed in different countries so we couldn't organize. I don't know where they are now.”

The room spun as Dean tried to make sense of it. He knelt beside her, hoping to avoid looking so disheveled. “Amina, is it?”

“Yes.” She nodded and sniffled. “Oh, human crying is disgusting.”

“You're saying you saw Cas? You were cast out for loyalty to him?”

The woman nodded again.

“He was alive when you saw him, right?”

Her blue eyes shifted to his face and he realized those were Castiel's blue eyes too, which meant her vessel had to be part of the Novak bloodline. “You saw him. I know you did. He was trying to answer your prayers when they took me away. He told me where you were and I stole money to get on a plane from some place called Nevada.” She laughed bitterly. "An angel reduced to a cumbersome undignified airplane."

“I saw him, yeah.” He chose to omit the torture he witnessed. He looked up at Sam. “This don't smell right. Those dicks dropped her in Nevada and really expected someone loyal to Cas wouldn't come looking for me in Colorado?”

“They don't care,” she interrupted. “They're saying they'll come collect you whether I’m present or not. I'm basically helpless without my grace.” Pain filled her eyes and she heaved a sigh toward the ceiling. She exposed the underside of her wrist to them, revealing a badly clotted slice showing early signs of infection. “They drained my grace. It's being held for a bargain. If I help you, I don't ever get it back. If I don't help you, I'm abandoning my most beloved brother.”

Sam immediately retreated to his duffle bag and produced a bandage and antibacterial wash. “We can't make that decision for you,” he said, “but if you do help us, you'll be taken care of here. Family to Cas is family to us.”

“Right,” agreed Dean, although he still felt skeptical. “Who's your vessel?”

“Theresa Novak,” she replied. “Jimmy's sister. The Novaks come from an ancient bloodline that angels have used for vessels many times. Castiel once used Jimmy's great-great-great grandfather for an assignment. A very compliant family. They usually agree to it right away.”

“Where are Theresa and Jimmy now?” Sam asked as he cleaned her wound.

“Jimmy's long gone in his own Heaven. He got out of the body when Lucifer killed Castiel.” Her eyes darkened. “I don't feel Theresa anymore. I suppose me being cast out of Heaven killed her. She must be in her own Heaven too. I pray they're merciful and let the Novaks be together.”

“An angel praying for mercy on human souls. Maybe you're not one of the dicks after all.”

Dean left Sam to clean up her sliced wrist and ducked into the bathroom to change his clothes. The man looking back at him in the mirror shined with drying sweat and his shirt torn from his right shoulder looked like he'd been mauled by an animal. Dark circles under his eyes and a four-day-old beard didn't help the idea that he might have been a hobo to strangers. He stripped, leaving a pile of clothes on the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief that some of the grace marks still glowed a bit. They were all he had left of Castiel. That and apparently his sister in the other room with Sam.

A quick but awkward bath with a cast allowed Dean to pull himself together. He needed to stay clear, stay focused. It might be a trap. Sam better have gotten her with all the usual tests before letting her in the room, not that Dean thought his brother was naive enough to let it slide. He intended to search for any evidence of the angel Amina. If she was raised with Castiel, then she would have done work with humanity as well. It counted in her favor that her loyalty seemed genuine and she spoke of the torture Dean witnessed before she met him. He decided to cut her with the angel blade. If she was truly cast out of Heaven, it wouldn't hurt her like it would hurt Castiel.

Dean dried off and put on a Beatles t-shirt with clean jeans. Doing everything left-handed slowed him down and he dreaded having to use a gun or fight in that condition. He didn't have six weeks to heal up though.

In the other room, he found Sam and Amina talking quietly. She nodded with mournful, downcast eyes and he patted her forearm. He could tell his brother liked her but the younger Winchester didn't know it yet. This was the last thing any of them needed. Dean didn't even know if she could be trusted yet. They sensed his presence and looked up at him.

"You gonna tell me what happened to your arm there?" Sam asked in a parental tone.

Glancing at his cast, Dean shrugged. "Bar fight. No big deal."

"You drank?"

"No. Just needed to hit something. Asshole deserved it. I'm fine now." He needed to change the subject before he started feeling the sorrow again. Hold onto the anger. "Look, Amina, nothing personal but I gotta nick you with the angel blade. I gotta be sure you are who you say you are." From his jacket, he withdrew the weapon Castiel left with him.

"Dean," interrupted Sam, "I already did the tests."

"Angel blade?"

"...No."

Amina rose to her feet, as graceful as a lady of elegance, she approached Dean and offered the arm that hadn't already been cut. He thought she seemed awfully feminine if angels didn't really have genders, but then he reminded himself that she was cast out and fully occupied a female body now. She wore a floating sort of short-sleeved blouse with lavender flowers, a pair of dark slender jeans, and sandals with slight heels. Theresa Novak must have been a the sort of elegant intellectual that Sam would have liked more than Dean. As he gripped her forearm and drew the blade across her skin, he absently wondered how Amina would change her new body.

"See? Human blood. There you go." Her tone sounded more tragic and frightened of herself than challenging or sarcastic.

"I want to believe you." Dean skimmed a hand over his hair in distress. She certainly was human, which lessened the threat. She certainly looked like a Novak too. That could hardly be a coincidence. Dean battled himself, knowing he wasn't going to be able to bring Castiel home alone. Maybe Amina was a gift from the Virgin Mary. Maybe she was a spy from Heaven. He couldn't be sure.

"I have nowhere to go. You're the only people who love Castiel like I do, like all of our brothers and sisters did. Knowing he's home alone being ... purified ... I can't take it. I know you love each other. I saw it in his eyes. He has a chance if we work together, Mr. Winchester."

A stuttering bit of laughter came out of Dean. He had a hard time looking into her eyes without seeing Castiel. "My father was Mr. Winchester. You call me Dean. I don't mean offense but you gotta understand the risk." His mind turned. "Did he tell you anything that only we would know? Something so I know it's really him?"

"Well..." Amina's eyes turned up to the ceiling in thought. "I saw him in restraints before they knew I would refuse to deliver the purification. He was mumbling half-conscious about how you were praying to him but he couldn't answer you. We all knew why he was called home. They were going to execute him, but then orders came that we were to make an example out of him. He didn't speak until they left. He said he forgave me for what I had to do. I asked him if it was truly worth it to love a human and he said he would do it all again. He said the last thing he told you was, 'I need you to have faith in me,' and--" She wiped fresh tears with the awkward wadded ball of tissue, "--and he was so proud that you were holding onto your faith. He felt you praying. It soothed him even when they began carving and ripping as I was dragged away."

Dean's legs slowly gave way. His back slid down the wall until he hit the floor, knees drawn upward. He stared at nothing and forced himself not to dwell on the torture.

Sam edged between them. "Is she telling the truth?"

"Yeah," Dean replied hollowly. His eyes met hers. "One more thing. Who's your mother?"

"Mary," came the one word reply.

That did it. Dean couldn't think of anything else that might have swayed his opinion. He nodded at Sam, who's eyes softened toward Amina now that he had unofficial permission to trust her a bit. Dean decided they'd have to watch her carefully for a while and not let her out of their sight until she proved herself further. For the moment, he was too tired to feel anything but relief that something of Castiel was with him again.

"Do you know anything about summoning angels?" he asked.

She nodded eagerly. "A great deal, yes. My specialty at home was being an archivist. Knowledge of my kind's history was my business."

"You and Sammy here oughta get along great then. He's a library geek too." Dean peeled himself off the floor and pushed himself to keep moving. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know." Amina's forehead crinkled in confusion. "What does that feel like?"

Sam chuckled, leading her to the door and grabbing his wallet on the way. "Come on," he said. "We'll introduce you to the cheeseburgers Cas likes best."

"God, I need a smoke," Dean muttered.


	8. How to Train Your New Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is learning to look after Castiel's sister, the fallen angel Amina, while Sam is showing uncertain attraction to her. She is as oblivious to it as Castiel was about Dean, which makes the older Winchester caution his brother. They have more important things to worry about at the moment! As the clock winds down on the ultimatum Dean gave the Virgin Mary, he starts worrying all the more, not that he'll show it. That night, three women claiming to be the goddesses Isis, Brigid, and Venus appear, allegedly sent by Mary herself to help him. Will he agree to work with goddesses?

“Amina sounds Arabic,” Sam commented thoughtfully between bites of a turkey burger buried in rabbit food.

The outcast angel’s manicured finger poked at her cheeseburger bun as if she never touched food before. She probably hadn't, in fact. Absently, she answered Sam, “Castiel divided his company among different parts of the earth and we each had our own territories. I was given the tribal people of the Middle East. My gradual interaction with them had the unexpected affect of humans naming their female offspring after me. Now all of you humans think my name is Arabic. It’s Enochian. It means trustworthy.”

“You’re yankin’ me. It really means trustworthy?” Dean said.

Her blue eyes squinted at him just like Castiel did. “You should know, Dean. You understand Enochian now. That’s the rumor, anyway.”

He stared wordlessly, wondering what other rumors were going around upstairs. Images of angels gossiping around the water cooler about his sex life made him incredibly uneasy. That felt worse than Sam knowing about some of the details. He stuffed a fistful of fries dripping with ketchup in his mouth so he wouldn't have to say anything.

Amina observed the brothers carefully as they ate. She picked up one of her own fries and studied it like the strangest thing she had ever seen. It seemed fairly straightforward to Dean. Put food in your mouth and chew it. She resisted it, though, almost as if the act of eating was beneath her.

“Here, like this.” Patiently, Sam took her wrist in his large hand and directed the fry to a cup of ketchup. “Dip.” Then he propelled her hand toward her mouth. “Bite.”

With a hesitant glance at the younger Winchester beside her in the fast food booth, she bit the fry and chewed experimentally. Sam released her wrist and waited.

“Strange. I thought fruits were supposed to be sweet,” she said.

“Most of them are,” Sam replied. “We think of tomatoes as vegetables though. You like fries then?”

“I think so.” She dipped another fry in the ketchup in such a deliberate way that suggested self-consciousness about doing it wrong. Another fry chewed and swallowed brought a defined nod. “Yes, I believe I like fries and ketchup.”

“Try the cheeseburger,” encouraged Sam, picking up his turkey burger for a demonstration. “Like this.”

Amina mimicked him with her small hands but hesitated before the burger hit her mouth. She sniffed it and confusion creased her brow. “I believe Theresa Novak was a vegetarian.” Despite that bodily memory, she foraged ahead and bit into the cheeseburger while Sam observed expectantly. “This is really my brother’s favorite food?”

“Yeah, so far. It’s not like angels need to eat,” Dean replied without looking up. “He likes coffee and rum too.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I want to eat animal meat.” The decision seemed final as she opened her cheeseburger and opted to eat the tomato slices, lettuce, pickles, and onions out of it. She slurped Coke from a straw somewhat awkwardly. “Sweet. Very sweet. I enjoy that.”

As Dean watched this unfold, the deliberate experimentation and analysis of food, he realized one undeniable fact. Castiel was him and Amina was Sam. The dedication between brother and sister made sense to him, as did his brother’s patient interest in her. He certainly didn't realize he was attracted yet, but Dean knew, probably the way Sam knew he was attracted to Castiel all along. It didn't bother him so much that his brother might have found a girl, but he sure as hell wasn't going to encourage anything until they brought his angel home. The last thing he needed was this distraction.

“Can we talk shop now?” Dean opened a cardboard container of a single pie slice.

Sam’s face turned to business. “I haven’t found anything yet about summoning the Virgin Mary. She has always appears when people aren't expecting it.”

“Common circumstances?” asked Dean. “Maybe we can recreate some scenario.”

“Wait a minute.” Blinking with bewilderment, Amina put up her hand. “Did I hear you correctly? You’re attempting to summon Mother Mary? No one has ever succeeded at that. Angels haven’t even seen her since the first civil war.”

“She does appear to humans from time to time though,” Sam argued.

“Under God’s control.” Amina looked up at Sam through her dark lashes as if she expected him to be smart enough to know that on his own.

“What are you talking about?” Dean felt his stomach harden with the added complication.

She took a breath and backtracked, explaining in simpler terms. “Mother Mary is an angel. The first angel.”

“I know. That’s what Cas said.”

“Didn't you know God has the ability to control any angel? The majority of us don’t have free will. We obey. I mean, we _did_ obey until something in Castiel developed free will and emotion.” Her eyes darted between the two brothers. It didn't need to be said. Pulling Dean out of Hell was the cause of Castiel's growth, or destruction, depending on the perspective. “Only a few of us learned those things from Castiel. Even the half of the host who sided with him in the second civil war didn't really have feelings or free will. They just shifted their natural state of obedience to him. We’re programmed to obey whoever is in charge. Mother Mary was the first of our kind, which means she’s been indoctrinated the longest. She can’t make a move without God’s approval or direction. She’s God’s consort, His queen. A dutiful wife obeys her husband, in human terms. In other words, if my father doesn't sanction contact with my mother, you won’t succeed.”

The most irritated sigh left Dean as he leaned back in the booth. “So God’s a deadbeat dad and a controlling, abusive husband on top of that. Awesome.”

“My father knows all. He has reasons for everything He does,” said Amina, her voice edging on defensive.

Nodding, Dean ripped a bite from his pie. “Deadbeat dads always have reasons. Doesn't make them right or any less of deadbeats.” He sucked down his Coke, considering himself a great expert on that particular subject.

Amina's lips parted and she squinted through a slow head tilt of disbelief and discontent. The way her eyes narrowed at Dean, the way she slumped back in the booth, the way she shook her head while looking out of the window - it seemed like an echo of Castiel in a female body. Her mannerisms in being unable to verbalize hurt feelings or irritation looked exactly like Castiel the day Dean teased him about being a baby in a trench coat. He froze mid-chew and stared at her profile as she faced the window.

He must not have been imagining it because Sam stared too. And then Sam’s eyes shifted to him across the table. He cleared his throat. “Little eerie, isn't it?” he said to Dean.

“Yeah,” he said darkly.

Curious but still irritated, it seemed, Amina glanced at them. “What?”

Dean couldn't say it out loud. Sorrow stalked him like a hellhound and he fought every minute to keep himself from sliding into an apathetic place. He loaded his tray with trash and left the booth for the garbage can without a word. He shoved the trash off the tray into the can and stacked it on top of the other trays left there. For a moment, he gripped the garbage can to collect himself. Deep breath. Hold on to the anger.

“What did I do?” he heard Amina ask Sam.

He listened from the garbage can. Sam hesitated and sighed. “You look like Cas to him. It’s not just your vessel being related to his vessel. That pouting thing you just did - that was Cas all over. He’s having a hard time. I don’t think he’s slept much in two or three days.”

“Oh… I didn't mean to offend him.”

“You didn't offend him,” Sam said gently to her. “It’s hard to understand if you haven’t been in love. When that person’s gone, especially not by choice, everything reminds you of them and everything hurts. Sometimes it’s almost physically painful to be without that person. You looking like him and having some of his mannerisms isn't your fault or anything. Dean’s just missing him a lot.”

“I miss Castiel too. It’s a rather uncomfortable emotion. Most of them have been terrible and exhausting so far.”

Sam made a sound of empathy. “It’ll get better. It’s not all bad being human. You just gotta figure out what makes you happy.”

“Bringing my brother to safety would make me happy. Not being alone would make me happy.” Her voice turned small and girlish like a child woken by a nightmare.

“You’re not alone,” promised Sam quietly.

It was going to take time to grow accustomed to having a new human in their misfit family. It reminded him of having a toddler dropped in his lap, except that toddler once had access to Heaven’s library and archives. She needed a patient touch sort of the way Castiel did at times. Too much aggression would scare her into her shell, and frankly, he needed her knowledge more than anything at the moment. Dean took another breath and returned to the booth.

“He’s right. You’re not alone. You’re Cas’ sister, so… you know… you’re with us now.” He waved them over and strolled toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

The three of them piled into the Impala for the drive back to the motel and Dean sparked a satisfying after dinner cigarette. He ignored Sam rolling his eyes and bitch-facing with the speed of light in the passenger seat, but at least rolled down the windows for him. For hell’s sake, he quit drinking. Wasn't that enough for a free pass?

“Okay, well, I didn't want to say anything in case we were being listened to in the restaurant but I need to be square with you two,” he began. “Cas wanted me to pray, so I did. To Mary. Except it turned into a threat because, you know, that’s what I do. I gave her a choice. She either comes to help us voluntarily in the next forty-eight hours, and it’s already been twenty-four, or I’m gonna drag her out of wherever she’s hiding whether she likes it or not.” The silence from his passengers felt accusatory and judgmental. “This is Cas. I’m gonna take apart Heaven brick by brick until I find him. You can help me or not but I’m doing it.”

Silence deepened in the car until Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Finally, “I’m with you,” in a small voice emerged from the back seat.

Sam turned and glanced at Amina, then back at Dean with his usual concern and angst. “Look, you know I’m with you,” he said, hesitating. “I just can’t believe you threatened _the Virgin Mary_.”

“Desperate times,” Dean replied. He pulled into the motel parking lot.

“What are you gonna do when she doesn't show up?” pressed his brother.

The three of them climbed out of the Impala and crossed the parking lot toward their pair of neighboring rooms. Dean honestly didn't know what he was going to do if Mary didn't show up, but he hoped that secret weapon with long wavy hair and Castiel's blue eyes had some idea. Inside the room, he flung himself backwards on the bed and draped an arm over his eyes while Sam and Amina hung up coats. _Hold on, Cas_ , Dean prayed silently. _I’m working on it. Keep fighting those dicks_.

“Hey.” Sam nudged his knee in passing. “What are we doing with her?”

Dean rose up on his elbows and eyed Amina. “You can sleep here. I’ll sleep on the couch there.”

“Or she could sleep in my room,” suggested Sam.

Because that sounded productive. Dean rolled his eyes up at his brother’s skyscraper height from the bed. “Or not,” he said in _that_ tone. “We need to actually, you know, sleep.”

The younger Winchester bitch-faced with the speed of light, but, apparently realizing he wasn't going to win, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Whatever.”

Amina, standing against the wall, watched the exchange in confused discomfort. She tilted her head questioningly at Dean again, a mannerism that he wasn't sure he could ever see without thinking of Castiel. He pushed himself to his feet again, driven to distract himself from thoughts that he knew wouldn't help anything.

“So, um, do you know about showering and brushing your teeth and stuff before bed?” he asked carefully.

She folded her fingers together in nervous motions, clearly uncertain. “I know hygiene is a preoccupation of humans. Such minor details were never part of my job description. I never paid enough attention. When my vessel was damaged, I simply fixed it.” It seemed to shame her and she dropped her eyes to the floor. “I no longer have the powers to care for my vessel properly.”

“It’s okay. Sammy’s gonna let you borrow a shirt to sleep in,” he said in the best soothing tone that he could muster, casting a communicative glance at his brother, “and I’m gonna show you how the shower works. I mean, just explain it. Not actually _help_.”

The amount of awkward filling Dean at having to care for Castiel's sister that way couldn't be measured with words. But just because she was his angel’s sister meant he had to step up, be a man, and help her adjust to human life. Sam ducked into his adjoining room, presumably for a shirt and presumably rather pleased about that idea.

The fledgling human woman trailed Dean to the bathroom like an obedient puppy. He left the door wide open as a myriad of female things listed in his mind like one of Crowley’s scroll contracts. Women put themselves through all kinds of grooming like shaving, hairstyles, makeup, lotions, and a million other things that remained mysterious to most men like Dean. Who was going to teach Amina those things? He felt like he adopted a child on a whim and had no idea how to braid hair or paint nails. And he couldn't _wait_ for the next time Theresa Novak's body got her period. Amina would probably think she was dying. He needed to find another woman immediately. There was no way Dean Winchester could give a lesson in tampons. _No way_.

“Okay, so I guess women shower every day,” he explained as he leaned in and twisted the knobs. “Turn it on like this. Off like this. Hot water this way. Cold water this way. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said studiously.

“Leave your clothes on the floor. I’ll take care of that when you’re done. You wash your body with this soap and rise it off in the water. Don’t leave soap on you or it’ll itch.” He showed her the soap bottle and washcloth, and then the shampoo and conditioner Sam insisted on bringing everywhere. “Wash your hair with this one. I mean, make sure your hair’s wet first. Soap it up. Wash it out. Then use this one. It’s conditioner. Women always seem to want this stuff.”

“I understand.” Amina looked a little overwhelmed but she was as intelligent as Castiel.

Clutching a t-shirt, Sam’s head popped around the doorway. “Here,” he offered. “This one ought to be long enough to cover everything.”

“Thank you, Sam.” She put the shirt on the bathroom counter and offered him a small smile. “My brother was right about your kindness. I’m most appreciative of it.”

“No problem.” He smiled widely back at her, but caught Dean’s eye, and checked himself. Clearing his throat, he left the bathroom.

Dean showed her towels. “Dry off with these after you’re done.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Amina grasped his forearm over the cast as he moved toward the door. He had no choice but to look her in those eyes - _his_ eyes. Her voice went soft and surprisingly maternal. “I’m going to attempt to pray, to convince Mother Mary to help him. Whatever you decide after we know her answer, I’m with you. I just want my brother out of danger. I believe his rightful place is with you. He’s the only one of us who loves humanity the way God commanded and that’s worth all of our loyalty, I think. My faith … I mean, I believe he’ll be rewarded in the end for obeying our father even under the worst circumstances. I just … I have to believe.”

She spoke with such sincerity that Dean almost felt her naive sense of faith in her father. It was the same sense of naive faith he had in his own father even after disappointment after disappointment. An impulse pushed Dean toward Amina and he crushed her against his chest in a brotherly embrace. She stiffened just the way Castiel had before he learned to hug, but she seemed to understand faster as her little hands crept around his back.

“I've never hugged anyone before,” she said, muffled by his shoulder.

“Never?” Dean let go and looked at her, actually looked at her for once.

Faint lines deepened around her eyes as she gave a small smile. She most certainly had to be younger than Castiel. Or more like Theresa had to have been younger than Jimmy.

“Well, I'm a hugger, so be ready for it.” He attempted a smile too. “Take your shower. We’ll be out there. Shout if you need anything.”

Dean left Amina to her own devices in the bathroom, feeling conflicted about her future in the family. The truth was he liked her. It sneaked up on him. He went from not trusting her to liking her and caring about her welfare in a single night. He knew a big part of it was because she had a lot of Castiel's gentility and innocence in her. At the same time, there was a fighting spirit deep in there that made her steal the money to get on a plane and find them mere hours after being cast out of Heaven because she wanted to help her brother. Fighting tooth and nail for the family was the Winchester way. It made her a good fit with them.

Once they brought Castiel home, though, it didn't escape the realm of possibility that Amina could strike out on her own. It was within her full rights as a human being, after all. And Dean expected nothing less. No one in his life ever stuck around long whether by choice or not. It bothered him that he liked Amina that quick if she wasn't going to hang around long.

He kept an ear trained on the bathroom while he took the free moment to change his own clothes. Sam sat cross legged on the bed flipping channels on the television. As he made up a makeshift bed on the sofa against the wall for himself, his thoughts drifted back to Castiel. This really was an impossible task, busting an angel out of a torture chamber in Heaven. Insecurity took hold momentarily but he couldn't allow himself to go there. Insecurity would kill Castiel in a heartbeat. Failure was not an option. Dean had to take himself back to the apocalypse and the stubbornness that he etched into his soul in order to pull off that impossible miracle. The difference was he swore no one would die this time.

"How's the hand?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced at the cast on his right wrist as he unfolded a blanket over the sofa. "Hurts. I'm fine as long as I don't try to grab too much with it. Don't think I've ever broken a hand before. It's always been legs, ribs, nose, and ankles."

"Who'd you punch?"

"Some douchebag hitting on a girl. She didn't want him. I took care of it."

Sam smirked. Dean could feel it behind him and heard it in his voice. "And the girl?"

The way he said it, implying that Dean did it to get laid, irritated him. He whipped around and shot Sam a death glare. "It wasn't like that, Sammy. When are you gonna accept that I'm committed?" He knew he had to say it. That was the only way to get Sam to really get it even if he'd already told Amina the same thing. "I love him. I don't want anyone else. You got it?"

He nodded with the faintest smile as if pushing Dean had been a ploy to admit it. "I got it. You consider yourself married then."

"I haven't really put a word on it," Dean replied, slumping on the sofa-turned-bed. "I guess. I mean, I'm looking after Amina like a sister-in-law. I dunno. Why do I have to put a word on it?"

"You don't." Sam shrugged. His mind visibly shifted with the mention of the new human in the shower. His voice turned reflective. "She's kinda great. I dunno. There's a lot in her mind but she doesn't say much. I had a day with her before you came back. Sometimes she seems fragile but I think if it came down to it, she'd kill without thinking twice. And even though she cries sometimes, she's adapting to being human better than I ever would."

"Jesus Christ, you like Cas' sister. We're not hillbillies."

Laughter brightened Sam's face as he pushed his hair behind his ear. "She's not my sister. Liking her isn't any worse than you mating outside of your species. At least she's human now."

He had a point and Dean conceded to it. "Okay, but you can't be aggressive. Listen to me, Sammy." He leaned forward on the sofa and rested his forearms on his knees. "She's more worried about Cas right now. We all are. And she's not gonna understand flirting like other girls. Cas didn't. You gotta give her time to feel an attachment to you if it's there. She won't get it. Someday the time will feel right and you'll have to be direct so there's no question. Once she gets it, if she's anything like Cas in that department, it's total commitment and you're not gonna want anyone else. So if you think you really are into her, you better be ready to go down that road. Don't play with her. They're not like us. When they love, it's total and permanent."

"And you love him like that?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. Never thought I'd see you like that." Sam turned back to the television but didn't watch what was happening on the screen. He absorbed everything Dean said.

The older Winchester knew he had to venture into dangerous territory with his brother, but it had to be said. "Jess would want you to he happy. If you like Amina, don't avoid it because it might go wrong."

Although Sam didn't have anything to say about that, Dean knew his words had the right effect. He didn't need to say anything more about it. The conversation needed to die of natural causes before they turned into an even worse chick flick then it already had.

The two of them watch television in silence until Amina finished her shower. She peeked out from the bathroom door with stringy wet hair and Sam's shirt dangling from her body. Thankfully it hung to her knees because he was such a huge man. Dean didn't know if former angels had any sense of modesty but it appeared that she felt a little bit exposed as she tugged on the shirt and looked at them for approval. He stood and went into the bathroom to bring her one of the extra combs in plastic that the hotel left for guests.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Girls usually comb their hair after every shower."

"I don't know how to do that," she said.

Dean had no idea either. He kept his hair as short as possible without looking like a bald man. Sam, on the other hand, looked more like he grew a lion mane every year. He looked to his brother and shrugged, clueless as ever about women's inner workings.

"I can do it. Sit down here." Sam patted the mattress in front of him.

Visibly relieved, Amina climbed onto the bed in front of Sam, her back to him, and passed him the comb. He pulled her wet mop of dark hair back down her back and began expertly working the comb through the wet chunks and snarls. Dean shook his head. He never thought he'd find himself stuck in a motel watching his brother comb out a woman's hair like he'd been going to sleepovers his whole life. Not even a woman, really. An angel cast out of Heaven for being loyal to his angel partner and her angel brother. Every day, his life got weirder. Christ.

"Tell me if I hurt you," said Sam to Amina as he combed her hair.

"No. It feels nice," she replied. "Is this done every day?"

"Yep."

Her mouth turned sideways in a disappointed expression. "So much time spent on grooming. How do you humans get anything accomplished?"

"You'll get faster at it and it won't be a big deal," Dean said. "I'm trying to think if I know any women who can help you with the things we can't. I'm sure there's someone out there. Girls need friends anyway. We're not just gonna ditch you after we bring Cas home."

Sam parted her wet hair with the comb and passed through the length a few final times. "So are we just running down the clock now?"

"Yep," Dean replied. "Figure we'll take Amina to pick up a few clothes and stuff tomorrow if she's gonna ride with us for a while. If Mary doesn't show her face, then we hit the pavement running on a new plan this time tomorrow night."

The three of them agreed to the plan, although Sam and Amina didn't seem as confident that they could bring the friggin Virgin Mary out from wherever she hid. As they settled down for the night with Sam in his adjoining room, the door open, Amina in Dean's bed, and Dean folded uncomfortably on the sofa, he dreaded the silence. The new human lady looked terribly small in the nest of blankets and she worried that she wouldn't know how to sleep, but it only took about twenty minutes for Dean to hear slow, measured breathing of unconsciousness.

Dean folded his arms over his chest and considered five or six different ways to club himself over the head. He wished for unconsciousness the way he wished for Castiel's grace to touch him again. Strange how almost a lifetime of sleeping alone, aside from one night stands and Lisa, suddenly felt so inadequate after just a few nights with his angel. Castiel never slept but he stayed with Dean and it meant more than he ever thought possible.

Eventually, he slipped into the solitude and restlessness of sleep. Images repeated on a loop of Castiel's torture. Dean couldn't get to him no matter how he pounded and kicked the glass doors. He watched other angels carve Enochian symbols of purification into Castiel's vessel while another angel ripped out clumps of feathers from his wings with steel pliers. Castiel's screams tore into the air on multiple frequencies. It sounded to Dean like both the vessel and the angel screamed in chorus until piercing pain cut through his ears. Clapping hands over his ears, he sank to his knees with the force of Castiel's agony. In his last surges of strength, he pressed a hand to the glass door just as...

Leaping upright on the sofa, a dark room greeted Dean with peaceful silence. Sweat bled through his shirt. Fear for Castiel in such a constant state made Dean's chest hurt and his heart felt like it might explode. He peeled off the uncomfortable sweaty shirt. A hand ran over his face as he tried to talk himself off the ledge.

Cigarette. A cigarette would help. Dean threw the blanket off his legs and put on his jeans again. He grabbed another shirt on the way out the door, carefully opening it as to not wake Amina from her new sleep cycle.

Outside, Colorado night air felt damp and chilly but he welcomed the shock to his senses. It pulled him further away from the nightmares. He pulled a new cigarette from the dented, crinkled pack and tilted his head to shield the lighter flame from the breeze. Something caught the edges of his vision. Movement in the parking lot. Dean's spine stiffened and his body alerted the way an animal froze in pursuit of prey.

"Beautiful night, Dean Winchester."

He straightened, the hand with the cigarette falling to his side. All of his weapons were inside the room on the dresser. Shit.  _Shit_.  Three women in a triangle formation approached him in a parking lot, moving with a liquid sense of inhuman posture.

"Who are you?" demanded Dean.

The lead woman wore a long dress of white linen cut in a halter shape around her neck. "Hmm. The greatest hunter in the world cannot identify three goddesses," she said to her companions. Caramel skin along with pin straight black hair bluntly shaped over her forehead and down her back made Dean think she was Arabic, perhaps Indian. He looked closer at the heavy black eyeliner drawing out like a cat-eye. It seemed distinctly Egyptian.

The woman over her right shoulder stood under a cascade of orange curly hair, wore a similar flowing dress of green silk, and her pale skin shined in the moonlight. And the woman over her left shoulder stood taller than both of the others. Curly brown hair bundled behind her head and her dress seemed more like layers of Roman robes in blue and white.  Each lady stepped closer.

"I am Isis," said the Egyptian.

"I am Brigid," said the redhead.

"I am Venus," said the elegant woman.

"Okay." Dean's mind raced. His pulse quickened with a burst of adrenalin. He calculated the chances of bolting inside for his weapons before one of them could kill him.

Isis smiled, her full dusky rose lips pulling up and deepening the black lines over her eyes. "Dean, you cannot kill us with anything in that room," she said, clearly reading his mind. "You needn't worry. We are not here to harm you, your brother, or the fallen angel. We are here to help you."

"I'm sorry? Come again?" Yeah, this needed a sturdy drag off his smoke.

The redhead, Brigid, lifted a hand and stared at her open palm. Flames appeared, dancing above her palm and fingers under her own control. The glow illuminated her angular face and her unnaturally bright, glittering green eyes. She looked like the immortal version of a warlike Irishwoman. And when her eyes turned to Dean, he swallowed back a wave of intimidation.

"How he underestimates the power of a mother," said Venus to her companions. "Brigid, you're frightening him. He loves. War is not his true nature, though he tries to be a warrior." The way she moved seemed indescribably sensual and Dean what kind of goddess she was.

Brigid laughed. It sounded like a cackling cry heard on a battlefield. Her fist closed around the flames and darkness shrouded her again.

The Egyptian left the Irishwoman and the Roman. She crossed the parking lot toward Dean with the gait of a cat and he swore he saw the shadow of bird wings. Her hair smelled of exotic spices. Her skin glimmered with gold and her eyes shined like black onyx. Immortality looked good on her, yet oddly, he felt no attraction to her whatsoever. No, he felt like a child encountering a woman of great importance.

"Calm, Dean." Her voice lowered softly, maternally, as her hand slowly braced against his heart. "We are the answers to your prayers."

It hit him suddenly, the realization, and he sucked in a sharp breath of astonishment.

"Yes. That's right. Mary, Queen of Heaven, asked us to come to you. Come, Dean. We have much to discuss tonight."

Isis, Brigid, and Venus surrounded the hunter before he could argue or attempt an escape. Hands pressed into his back, his arms, and his chest by all of them, and in a flash of white, they were gone.


	9. Valley of the Goddesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a split second, Dean is ripped out of Denver by three goddesses - Isis, Venus, and Brigid - and taken back to Egypt 3,000 years ago. Isis tells him that her temple is a safe place to discuss the Virgin Mary's plans. A war is coming and Dean is to play an important role in the Virgin Mary's bid to become a goddess in her own right. She proposes a deal to help him rescue Castiel, who is being tortured in Heaven as "purification" for his abomination of a relationship with Dean. Will he agree to the deal and help Mary with her war? Can he find Castiel before "purification" kills him?

Stone floors baked in the scorching desert sun and burned Dean’s naked feet. He spun, trying to grasp his bearings.

The three goddesses stood nearby, observing him. Isis sat with the most elegant posture on a backless bench padded with linen cushions as white as her gauzy linen dress. Brigid and Venus each lounged against carved stone columns painted in bright colors from ceiling to floor. A lanky black cat draped across Venus’ arms and she stroked the animal, again, with that sensual quality in everything she did.

Lush greenery, unusual palm trees, and an impressive river rolled by the structure. Dean’s meager high school education told him it looked like Egypt but it all seemed too fresh and new to be an ancient historical site.

"Welcome to my temple," Isis said through an emotionless expression.

Dean fully turned again. It didn't feel right.

"You’re quite correct, darling boy. This isn't your time. It is, oh, approximately three thousand years before your birth."

"What the hell am I doing here?" Dean barked.

"This is the only safe manner to discuss our plans, sweet," Venus said in a leering slither.

Patience ran so thin in Dean that a feather could punch a hole in it. He gritted his teeth, knowing damn well he couldn't do a thing about those women holding him in some twisted time warp.

"Then start talking and send me back," he demanded. “I can’t leave Sam and Amina unprotected like this and you know it."

Isis and her perfect posture rose from the elegant bench. She approached him too closely for human comfort, just as every immortal creature seemed to do. Her dark mauve, plump lips twitched in a smile but it appeared more intimidating than amused. Her black eyes stared up at him.

"They are well guarded," she said.

"By who?"

"My soldiers." The Egyptian goddess turned, facing a field of vegetation stretching far beyond the colorfully painted columns, and swooped her hands as if pulling back an unseen curtain. Hundreds of lean, tanned soldiers materialized in that field, lined up in rows of military precision with their ancient weapons at attention. There may have even been thousands of them.

"Where did you get them?" He knew they weren't alive. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end the way his body always reacted to ghosts.

She laughed in a peculiar mixture of a woman's voice and a bird of prey's screech. “Foolish boy. Did you honestly think Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory were the only places where souls or monsters go?" Her eyes glittered. “Oh my dear boy. A great many gods and goddesses have a little piece of their own afterlife to care for their believers after they die." Isis crossed the stone floor toward Dean again. “There’s a war coming, Dean. With it comes your opportunity to bring the angel out of danger in Heaven upon Mary’s orders."

His brain rapidly plowed through all of the information. “Don’t talk in riddles. What war? What the hell are Mary's orders?"

"Let me ask you a question, Dean. Why do you think a mere angel would align herself with goddesses?"

"I don't know." The truth was he felt completely exhausted by the entire ordeal. He tried but he couldn't think straight.

Isis took his hands in a motherly fashion and gave him waves of comfort through their physical connection. He still didn't trust her one bit but he was too tired to honestly fight it. She folded her hands around his, caressing the rough skin. Only then did he notice he no longer wore a cast over his broken bones, nor did the hand hurt.

"Do you know how gods and goddesses acquire their power?" Her voice sounded soft and soothing just like her touch. "Faith, Dean. The faith of a human being is such a powerful force that gods and goddesses have been created from it for thousands of years. We don't just appear from nowhere. And when it comes to female deities, we typically have to break away from our male consorts by force. They are never willing to give us up because it's a division of power. If they do not willingly create us as goddesses in our own right, as my consort Osiris did, then we have to fight for our freedom. Think about what I'm telling you, Dean."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Of course he knew what she meant."The Virgin Mary is going to war with God so she can become a goddess."

Gravely, Isis nodded.

"And the three of you are helping her do it," he added.

"We are all mother goddesses in some way. Mary and I are so much alike that a great deal of you humans believe we're the same entity today, masquerading under different names. We're not the same entity but we _are_ as close as sisters. Our stories are so similar, Dean. Where she fights, I fight." Her words faded, allowing him to think about it in depth. "You know what family loyalty means, don't you? It's why you are fighting so valiantly to bring your angel to safety. It's why you're desperate to return to your own time, because you don't even trust my soldiers to guard your family. You understand why I'm working with Mary."

"Yeah, sure. I get it. Fighting wars. Creating goddesses. The family business," he replied, not that he was particularly irritated because he _did_ understand her reasons. "What does this have to do with Cas? What do you want from us?"

"He certainly does cut to the heart of a matter, doesn't he?" Venus laughed like a bell ringing off the columns. "I like him."

Isis glanced at her but remained focused on Dean, apparently making the sale. "Castiel is the only angel in the host who has obeyed God's word since mankind was created. This is what Mary tells me. The only thing she and God agree on anymore is that Castiel has suffered needlessly for loving man as he loves himself. That was precisely what angels were intended to do. All of the others corrupted God's word nearly as badly as mankind did, which is why God departed eons ago. Mary is a mother, Dean. She still loves her children - the angels - but God's neglect means she can no longer save most of them when she acquires her own power. She is oppressed. She hears Castiel crying out to her but she cannot act. She's trapped and there is no greater torture for a mother, especially knowing Castiel still believes in her when many of the other angels now only believe in themselves."

"God gave up on the family but he's holding her hostage so they'll think she did too," Dean guessed.

"Exactly. This war is going to be difficult to win. She's challenging the throne for her own piece of it. That means she needs all of our resources--" Isis gestured at the other two goddesses, "--and no one can be spared to rescue Castiel. She has decreed that we should teach you to rescue him so that you may do so when we attack. The area of Heaven where he's being held captive is also the area where we must eliminate the opposition and steal certain items necessary for the spell to create a Goddess of Heaven. Our battle will be the diversion for you to find Castiel and escape with him. Mary can no longer tolerate his suffering. She needs you just as he does."

Skeptical, Dean looked around the temple again as if seeking out some sort of trick. "You're telling me you're going to storm Heaven in Mary's name and let me sneak in there and grab Cas? For what? What does she want from me? Nobody does things out of the goodness of their hearts, immortal or mortal."

Isis smoothed her darkened marble face and resembled a living statue. She grasped his hands for the second time, apparently something she did when she had to deliver uncomfortable news. He never pulled away from her but he never let his guard down either.

"She requires your faith in exchange for helping you find Castiel," the goddess said directly. "You will be faithful to her. When the time comes, the blood of a faithful human will be required in the spell to create her as Goddess of Heaven. Your blood. But not until Castiel is safe and your faith is secure."

Laughter burst from Dean's chest. He couldn't believe that. "Are you kidding? My faith? She doesn't know me very well, does she? Do I look like the kind of man who relies on faith?"

"Yes." Stone serious, Isis kept her voice cool and unemotional. "You placed your faith in Castiel the day he raised you from Hell."

Dean sobered, uncomfortable with how those creatures looked into him. "Then she should know I won't give up faith in him for faith in her. Not a chance."

"She isn't asking that of you. Faith is not an exclusive concept. It's limitless. You once had faith in your father, your mother, and your brother too. Even Bobby Singer. Like love, one can never give enough faith. It isn't necessary to touch your beautiful faith in Castiel to also give faith to his mother. Consider one an extension of the other. Family. Like your own."

He shook his head in resistance. "What does my faith matter to her?"

"Don't you know, Dean? You're the Righteous Man. Your faith alone is worth the weight of faith from thousands of other humans. Maybe even millions. That's an invaluable resource to fledgling goddesses. Remember what I told you about our survival depending on the faith of humans. God didn't count on scores of people worshiping Mary over the millennia, yet she has been exalted by your kind so profoundly that she now has enough power to succeed at freedom to rule. Look at the Catholic Church. God and Mary are already worshiped in nearly equal parts. Securing the faith of the Righteous Man would give her enough power to strike out and right the wrongs of God's neglect. You cannot deny it, Dean. Mothers are always left to clean up the messes of neglectful absentee fathers, aren't they? How did you put it? God is a deadbeat dad? It's absolutely true."

And there was the root of the deal. He nodded, understanding the wheeling and dealing process now. He entered his comfort zone. Every person or entity in his life demanded something out of him and it didn't surprise him what she wanted.

"There is no wheeling and dealing," Brigid popped up from the back of the temple. She fanned herself with green feathers emerging from a gold clasp in her hand."Take the deal or leave it. Give Mary your faith and she will help you find your angel. Don't give her your faith and this war will go on without you regardless. It's of no consequence to us."

"But you should know, there is no other way to help him escape. You have to die in order to go to Heaven and only we can bring you back to life," said Venus with such little emotion that it chilled him.

"Lady, I've been told 'there is no other way' my whole life. Guess what? My brother and I stopped the apocalypse. We stopped the Leviathans. We put Cas back together after he took on God's power and almost killed himself. Your threats don't scare me, so save your breath."

Her amber eyes glowed in fury until Isis held up her hand in a silent gesture to make her stand down. Dean was absolutely ready to go back to his own time. There was no way he intended to work with those bitchy goddesses when, in any other situation, he would have killed them on the spot. He counted off exactly how many other gods and goddesses he had killed in his life with a swell of pride in his chest.

Hot iron rings grabbed him around the wrists and he realized it was Isis and her hands. She caught his eyes and he watched golden flames ignite in the black irises. Her anger infiltrated into his body where she touched him around the wrists. When he tried to back away, his feet wouldn't move.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Dean. Your angel tried to escape this morning. He's bloody, he's beaten, his vessel is shattered. Still, he tried to escape his captors and they caught him." She paused and let his imagination run away with him. "Do you know what they're trying to do to him? They trying to sever the ties bonding the two of you together. He keeps trying to escape because he can hear you praying to him. You've been telling him to fight and that's exactly what he keeps doing. The problem is, the more he fights, the more they torture him. They've broken the bones in his wings and ripped out huge portions of his feathers. Do you know that each feather is something he can feel? Angel feathers are not dead tissue like human hair or nails. He feels every inch of every feather being ripped from his body. And still, he tries to escape for you. _For you_ , Dean."

"Stop!" Dean clapped his hands over his ears, unable to tolerate the images in his brain.

Isis snatched fistfuls of his shirt and forced him to listen. "No, you need to hear what you're refusing to do because of your stupid pride. They're not going to quit, Dean. They're not going to let him go when they get tired of torturing him. Purification for angels means reprogramming them. They're not humans with individuality. Your angel, however, developed individuality and emotions, which is dangerous to their establishment. If they succeed at reprogramming him, he won't remember you. He'll feel nothing for you. You'll just be another pig wallowing in the dirt on earth. They'll do it, you know. They've done it to him before."

Overcome by fear for the only thing he ever loved besides blood family, Dean broke away from her, leaned over, and braced his hands on his knees. He thought he might vomit but pulled himself together at the last second. The things she described were so similar to things he already witnessed, leaving him no choice but to accept that she told him the truth. Oh  _Christ_ , he swore he wouldn't let that happen to Castiel.

Isis placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and her voice lowered to a maternal tone. "We're wasting time. If we don't get to him in the next few days, there will be nothing left of this angel you love. Do you understand?"

Wrestling with himself, Dean wondered what consequences could come of pledging his faith to an angel trying to become a goddess, who had not even succeeded at it yet. But she wasn't just any angel. She was the first angel. She was Castiel's mother and he tried to reverse the situation. Would he want Castiel to put faith in his own mother? Thinking of Mary Winchester's blonde hair and maternal presence opened up a gaping hole in his heart. Tears blurred his vision against his will. He hated showing emotion in those circumstances but he had never been under so much pressure as trying to save Castiel. Not since Sam was intended for Lucifer's vessel.

Eventually, the decision fell over Dean like a man facing his last choice. "Tell me exactly what I have to do."

***

The cat tucked under one arm and a bag made of woven reeds over the other arm, Dean burst into the motel room.

"Amina," he commanded, then shouted, "Sam!" into the other room.

"What's going on?" Sleepily, Amina rolled over in bed and sat up with messy long hair and Sam's crumpled shirt. "Where were you all night?"

"Egypt," replied Dean. He carefully placed the cat on the bed, whispering, "Wait here a while." The cat circled three or four times and curled up into a lazy black ball.

The fallen angel's eyes widened and she slipped out of bed like Dean just put a python there. "That cat..."

Sam appeared, bleary eyed and yawning in the soft golden light of dawn. He stared in disbelief at the cat as Dean passed him on the way to the narrow motel shower.

"Why do we have a cat?" he interrogated, leaning down to pet the silken black fur.

Dean quickly stripped in the bathroom, eager to wash off the stink of 3,000 years. "She's not a cat, Sammy. She's a goddess. Her name is Bastet. Don't be rude to her. She's been sent to help us." He soaped up quickly. They had a lot of driving to do.

" _What the hell, Dean?!"_

The sound of crashing furniture in the other room brought laughter from Dean in the shower. He pictured Sam happily petting an innocent cat, and then, being told she was actually an immortal goddess, flung himself backwards into the dresser as if being touched by fire. The deal he made would take a little convincing on his part, but once the decision was made, he actually felt lighter. At least they had a plan of action.

Finished with the quickest shower in history, Dean threw on his cleanest remaining clothes and hurried into the other room. He found Sam standing protectively between Amina and the cat, who simply stretched on the bed like she couldn't care less. Quickly, the hunter packed his things.

"Dean, stop. Explain." Sam curled an arm behind him around the lady.

"We're busting Cas out tomorrow night," Dean explained. He smiled. God damn it, he needed to cling to hope. "She answered my prayers, Sammy. She sent help."

The way Sam tilted his head suggested he thought Dean had gone off his rocker. "You mean the Virgin Mary? You were with her all night?"

"Not Mary exactly. She sent goddesses - Isis, Venus, and Brigid. God is a giant dick holding her back from stopping everything. If God doesn't give a fuck, Mary isn't supposed to give a fuck either. But she  _does_ give a fuck, Sammy. She gets it. Tomorrow night, all these goddesses are pulling together and going to war in Heaven. Mary's gonna break away from God and become a goddess in her own right. When the battle starts, that's when I go in with her--" he pointed at Bastet the cat, "--and bust Cas out."

Of course Sam's skeptical eye followed Dean around the room. Behind him, Amina pushed sleep tousled hair back from her eyes and watched with wide eyes.

"You made some kind of deal, didn't you?" Sam said in a low tone. "They wouldn't just help to be nice. What did you promise them, Dean?"

Sighing, Dean stopped rushing around the room and looked Sam in the eye. "Mary asked for my faith. There's a spell for the transformation to goddess and she needs the blood of a faithful human. When Cas is safe, I'm gonna give it to her."

"You really think it's that easy?"

"I haven't given anything yet, Sammy. Nothing happens until I bust Cas out," he argued. "Mary's the one risking everything here. Not me."

Amina slid out from behind Sam as if asserting her point. "He's right. My mother never goes back on her word. I know what she's trying to do and she will succeed if she has enough faithful humans backing her. She knows if Dean doesn't get my brother to safety, he won't give her the final component of the spell." Her blue eyes strengthened with newfound courage. "When do you leave?"

"Sundown tomorrow," said Dean.

"I'll put my clothes on." Amina grabbed her things and rushed to the bathroom.

"Wait, wait, wait." Sam shifted from one foot to the other and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to understand. "How are you getting to Heaven?"

On the bed, the lazy black cat stood and arched her spine. She grew before their eyes like a flower rising to the sun. In seconds, her undulating inhuman shape evolved from a black cat into a caramel skinned woman. Straight black hair just like her former cat fur hung around her shoulders in bluntly squared Egyptian style. Eyeliner more cat-like than Isis framed her golden eyes. Dean couldn't help but stare and Sam's jaw hung open in shock. Bastet's eyes were neither human nor black like most Egyptians. On the contrary, a pair of golden cat eyes with elongated pupils peered at the brothers.

"You needn't fear me, Sam," her warm, milky voice could have easily belonged to a cat. "Rely on your education. What are my dominions?"

"Uh..." Sam swallowed hard, glancing at Dean, who shrugged. "You're ... uh ... Bastet or Bast. Egyptian goddess." His mind turned so visibly in his facial muscles. "First you were represented as a lioness, a goddess of war. Then you became a domesticated cat as Egyptian people began keeping cats as pets. You're a goddess of war - I said that." He swallowed again, steadying himself. "And you're a goddess of protection."

"Very good, Sam." She smiled. Two of her teeth appeared just a little too long, like a cat. "Isis bound me to Dean for protection." Her human limbs moved with the liquid grace of a feline as she stood and grasped Dean's forearm, presenting his wrist to Sam. A thin gold chain hung there and she gestured to the same gold chain collar around her throat. "You see? I'm here to accompany him to Heaven and fight with him. My sole purpose at this time is to guard this human and his loved ones. So as you can see, Sam, there is no reason to fear me. Mary and Isis have taken every precaution. Tomorrow at sundown, I will kill Dean long enough to get him into Heaven with me. You and the fallen angel are tasked with bringing us back."

Dressed in the same clothes she wore yesterday, Amina appeared from the bathroom. "I have a name. I'm not the fallen angel. I'm just Amina."

Dean grabbed his bag and moved toward the door. "The meeting point is Lebanon, Kansas. There's a direct line between Heaven and Earth there, and apparently some kind of bunker where we'll hole up until the war's decided. Grab that reed bag there." He pointed to the large, bulky bag on the floor leaned against the bed. "Everything you and Amina will need is in it. Come on, get dressed. Lebanon's a six-hour drive."

Hesitating, Sam's more aggressive stance softened into something worrisome. "I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"Nope."

"You really trust some cat lady to  _kill_  you and actually bring you back?"

"She's not bringing me back, Sammy," he replied. "You are. I trust you. Look, I dunno whether I'll have faith in Mary when all this is over but she has kept her promises so far. Last night I was in Egypt  _3,000 years ago_ and I sure the hell couldn't get back on my own, but here I am unhurt. Not only am I unhurt but somebody actually answered my prayers besides Cas for once. I'd expect Cas to trust our mother if this went the other way around. He told us to find his mother. We did. This is the plan. Now, unless you've got something up your sleeve that'll get Cas back without me having to die for a night, I'm all ears. The way I see it, we don't have a choice here."

It struck Dean as unusual how his brother cast a questioning glance at Amina. She nodded slowly. Were they really communicating wordlessly? Dean squinted, wondering if something went on while he was gone even after he cautioned Sam to be careful with her.

"We promised Dean we were with him no matter which way things went," she spoke reassuringly to Sam. "Faith is all we have now. We have to try, for my brother." Amina looked at Dean and nodded. "For Cas."

A heavy sigh of disbelief and skepticism followed Sam into the adjoining room. "All right. Then we're going to Lebanon. I still don't like this."

Pleased, Bastet shrunk to the floor in front of Dean, taking on the shape of the black cat again. Wherever she went in public, she had to masquerade as the cat in order to conceal her unusual hybrid appearance. A woman with golden cat eyes and elongated cat fangs would certainly draw unnecessary attention.

She meowed affectionately and curled a figure eight around Dean's ankles. Nothing in his life had been as weird as having a goddess for protection, but he felt a static electricity sort of bond the minute Isis chained his wrist like Bastet's collar. He felt affection for her even though he knew the affection probably came from the bond Isis created. Scooping Bastet into his arms, he cradled the lazy, relaxed length of black cat and stroked her velvety fur. Purring vibrated her chest in seconds.

Odd. Dean had absolutely no allergic reaction whatsoever to the cat.

"What's it like," asked Amina, fiddling with her hands, "touching a real goddess?"

"Normally I gank these things but Isis feels like my mother. Bastet feels like the furry little companion I never wanted. This one's nice but don't go trusting gods or goddesses. Most of 'em are dicks just eating people for fun. I can't even tell you why, really, but... Isis and Bastet are different. If they're different, then I have to believe Mary's different." He kept stroking the cat-goddess and stepped closer. "Wanna pet her?"

Amina's eyes widened like a little girl. "Is it okay?"

"Sure."

Sam reappeared in the background of the room, gathering his possessions, and taking extra care with his laptop. His eye strayed to Amina quite frequently and in quiet protectiveness as her hesitant hand reached for Bastet's fur. She touched the cat near the neck. When she was sure the cat-goddess wasn't going to lash out at her, the petting became more self-assured and a smile spread over her full, round Novak face.

"I still think you're nuts," Sam told Dean on the way out the door, carrying his bags.

"Duly noted," replied Dean. "Can we go now or do you need to mousse your hair and splash on a little cologne for the lady?"

"Shut up!" shouted Sam in the parking lot.

Amina tilted her head. "What?"

Laughing, Dean shook his head, glad that it sailed over her head. "Nothing. Let's get out of here."

And so, the Winchester brothers, a fallen angel, and a cat-goddess drove eastward to meet the coming war in Heaven. Faith felt so unnatural to Dean but he knew Castiel would want him to try. God damn it if he didn't try.

_Hold on, Cas,_ he prayed somewhere along Interstate 70,  _we're coming to get you. Keep fighting. I found your mother. It's gonna be okay. Just hold on a little longer_.

True, he prayed to his angel that everything would be okay, but he tried to convince himself as well. Dean Winchester had roughly thirty hours left before he was killed and pushed into another war in Heaven. He died before. He could do it again.


	10. RIP Dean Winchester... Again... Kinda...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchester brothers, along with the fallen angel, Amina, and the Egyptian goddess, Bastet, prepare for the war in Heaven at the bunker in Lebanon, Kansas. They don't know what condition Castiel will be in when - and if - Dean busts him out of being tortured by the angels, so Dean steals medical supplies from a local hospital. Dean's faith in himself falters but he knows he can't turn back now. He has to die and go to Heaven that night in order to rescue Castiel. Before he goes, he tells Sam and Amina his final wishes, knowing he might not ever come back. Is Dean in over his head this time?

"This is it?" Sam leaned out of the car window like a puppy.

“Looks that way." The long drive stiffened Dean’s joints. He stretched, arms high above his head. Then he reached into the car and took Bastet the cat-goddess with him.

A large, moon-shaped structure built into the guts of a hill gave them a distinctly retro military impression. The Virgin Mary herself designated the place as a secure location to hide while the war in Heaven raged. Part of the deal was Dean learning to trust her guidance despite every cell in his body screaming that he could only trust himself.

Already the intense focus of a coming hunt fell over Dean as he threw open the bunker door, followed by Sam and Amina. Sheets covered old furniture and a layer of old dust dirtied the sheets. It looked like nobody had set foot in the bunker in Dean’s lifetime. He yanked a few sheets with a white flourish and revealed a massive table in the center of a great hall surrounded by chairs. He pulled more sheets off the surrounding bookshelves.

Bastet curled around the furniture, marking everything with her scent.

"We have to clean this shit hole if Cas is gonna heal up here."

Sam nodded, looking around, a little overwhelmed. “There must be places to sleep up there," he said, pointing at the stairs through the archway. “I’ll check it out."

Both Dean and Amina quickly set to work gathering up sheets from furniture, slowly revealing room after room of vintage 60s decor. The hunter didn't so much care what the place looked like so long as it was clean and secure. Very little dust penetrated the sheets, thankfully, and the furniture seemed well cared for over the years. He labored in the kitchen on washing every dish, glass, and piece of flatware, immeasurably glad that the bunker still had water and electricity. That couldn't have been a coincidence if it had been abandoned for so long.

"What have they done to him?" he asked Amina when she passed through the kitchen with an armload of sheets. “I mean, what should we expect?"

Her eyes flickered nervously from his face to her hands. The question quieted her even deeper than her usual silence, if that was even possible. He dried his hands on an old hand towel and faced her.

"Give it to me straight. We have to know how to take care of him."

Amina sighed deeply. “Aside from the mental purification, they're likely destroying his vessel piece by piece. Doing that makes him want to abandon that body. It's his barrier between himself and them. If they destroy the barrier, purification is much quicker." She sighed. “So they'll break many of his bones, especially his legs so he can't run. Breaking bones in his wings prevents him from flying as well. Ripping out his feathers is purification by pain and meant to take away his personal identity since we're not supposed to _have_ personal identity. He's likely been subjected to repeated beatings when he doesn't respond perfectly to breaking your bond. The symbols carved into his flesh are part of Enochian purification rituals, but if he's still trying to escape, then it's not working the way they hope. His will is too strong. His heart is too big." She pursed her lips and steadied herself. “You should expect to see a lot of blood, bruising, and broken limbs. You may not even recognize him. He'll be so weak that he won't be able to heal himself at all. His vessel may not even survive."

Dean nodded gravely, absorbing the information without a word. The only way he was going to be able to do this was complete detachment. He would have to force his mind into believing it was just another hunt - another day on the job.

"We need medical supplies. A decent bed. I gotta go out," he decided.

"Go. I'll stay here and clean up everything as best as I can," she said.

Dean agreed. “Tell Sammy I'm playing doctor. He'll know what I mean."

Bastet followed him to the car and he knew he wasn't going anywhere without her protection. She stretched in the back seat for a nap, while the drive into town helped calm Dean. Whenever horrifying images of beaten and bloody Castiel threatened to distract him, he squeezed the steering wheel tighter and mentally smacked himself. Fear and hesitation would get both of them killed, permanently. He worked on his game face, faking it until he made it.

He found a hospital and parked in the back of a garage structure. There, he slipped into a white lab coat from his trunk and changed from jeans to slacks. A fake medical name tag pinned to the lab coat pocket.

"Wait here," he said to Bastet, leaning into the car window. “I can't bring a cat into the hospital. I won't be long. Take a little cat nap or something, okay?" Hey, the joke made him laugh at least.

Dean had faked being so many different public servants for so many years that he strolled through the hospital as if he'd been working there since it opened. No one questioned his presence, thankfully, but he searched out different supply closets without being obvious about it. He made a couple of trips to the car as to not be seen carrying huge armloads of supplies. Plaster, cotton rolls, bandages, and saline bags were easy enough, but drugs like morphine and antibiotics required a few picked locks. He tried to anticipate every possible injury to Castiel's body, even stealing suture kits and the necessary items to start an IV.

True, Castiel was an immortal being, but his vessel was not. If he couldn't heal himself like Amina said, then it fell on Dean to keep the Jimmy Novak meat suit alive. He couldn't stand the idea of Castiel feeling pain anyway, and hoped the morphine would have some affect on him.

The back seat resembled a traveling pharmaceutical rep by the time he was done. He threw an old blanket over the stolen items and changed back into his street clothes. Bastet leaped into the front seat.

Dean's phone rang _Smoke On the Water_  and Sam's name flashed across the screen. “Hey, Sammy," he greeted as he drove.

"Hey. Amina said you went on a supply run," said Sam.

"Yep. Got stuff from the hospital."

"Okay. So get this," Sam talked and it sounded like he walked simultaneously. “I found like six bedrooms upstairs. Some of them sleep up to four but most are single beds. Amina and I are cleaning out the best room for Cas. The mattress is in decent shape. I figure we can buy sheets and whatever tomorrow morning. We gotta get Amina some clothes anyway." He paused. Dean knew his brother gazed at her and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “So, um, you know, come on back and I'll get to work organizing the stuff you swiped. I found some medical books. Whatever we don't already know, I'm sure I can learn it."

"I know you can, Sammy. Thanks," Dean said earnestly.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

The younger brother hesitated. “There are old pictures here. This place was a base for something called the Men of Letters."

"Okay. So?"

"The Men of Letters were hunters, but not like us. They were scholarly. There are records of supernatural events going back hundreds of years. Boxes of evidence. Weapons. I even found a box of angel blades." He hesitated again.

"Spit it out, Sammy. I'm on the clock here."

"Granddad Winchester's in these pictures," he finally said. “Dad's dad. Looks like 1958. From what I can tell, this is a hereditary thing like Freemasons or Eastern Stars. That means _we_ are Men of Letters by birthright."

It took a minute for the news to settle in Dean's brain. He didn't quite know what it meant or why they never knew about the bunker before. Yet the Virgin Mary sent them there for safety. She must have known. Distrust rose up in Dean like a snake coiling in grass, but he couldn't find any negative reason for them to be there. He tried. Oh yes, he tried to find some flaw in Mary, some reason to believe she trapped them.

"There is no protection like family."

Dean jumped and nearly spun off the road, having not realized that Bastet shifted to her human form again. Golden cat eyes looked at him in kindness.

"Gotta go, Sammy. Keep working on the place. I'll be there soon."

"Yup. Later."

"Later."

Bastet sat perfectly calm and serene like a feline in the passenger seat with her wrists folded over her lap. She seemed silently pleased.

"Start talking," ordered Dean.

She complied willingly. During that car ride, Dean learned more about his family history than he ever thought possible. It slowly made sense to him why the Virgin Mary wanted to align herself specifically with _his_ bloodline in her bid to become a goddess. The Winchester brothers were direct descendants of Cain and Abel, stretched through history among different men and women later declared saints, until the bloodline settled in the Men of Letters. In the unseen world of the supernatural, his blood was as close to royalty as such a concept could get. The goddesses treated him differently than other humans because of it. He suddenly understood.

It didn't matter as much to Dean where his blood originated or that he carried the DNA of saints. What mattered was that Sam had a permanent home now. Amina too. He knew the chances of him getting out of Heaven alive were slim, but somehow, he bore the pressure better just knowing that Sam had a place to call home if he didn't come back.

That night, Dean made Bastet recount the entire story for Sam and Amina over tacos. Of course, the goddess didn't eat, but she watched with serious interest - like a cat. The younger Winchester soaked up the information without even trying to hide his delight or nerdy historical mind. Amina listened with just as much interest, which reminded Dean that she, too, delighted in those nerdy things. Despite the worry for Castiel and the strain of adapting to human womanhood constantly darkening her eyes, she coped with an unusual grace and fortitude common only to Winchester women. She hadn't broken yet. Like Castiel, she seemed strong enough to bear the weight of Winchester men on her shoulders.

Dean went to bed early, not that he could sleep. He fiddled with the room a while, trying to make it more like a home and psyching himself up to the idea that, yes, he would succeed. Castiel was coming home or he was going to die trying. That was all there was to it.

Old sheets smelled musty as Dean flopped on his back. He didn't bother getting undressed. The truth was he considered it just another room in an endless parade of musty old rooms that marked different chapters of his life. None of them had been _his_ room, though, and he didn't want to claim this space without Castiel in it too. He didn't have a right to feel safe and comfortable at home when his angel was neither safe nor comfortable in his home.

The urge to pray came over him, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't tell Castiel when or how he was coming in case the angels tapped into his brain somehow. The element of surprise had to be on his side.

Rolling on his side, Dean folded an arm under his musty old pillow and noticed Bastet sitting at his feet. The elegant black cat with golden eyes and a golden chain collar tilted her head. Her pointed ears perked straight up as if seeking direction.

"Okay, you can sleep here," he grumbled, “but stay in the cat body. I dunno why but it seems less like… cheating… than if you were a woman."

Bastet's high, feminine meow answered him and she circled the mattress near his gut. She sprawled next to him in the weirdest relationship he'd ever experienced. First, he generally hated cats. Second, he generally hated goddesses. Yet there he was with a cat-goddess stretched in an elegant line against his stomach, and he kind of needed it. At least the bed wasn't cold and empty like it had been without Castiel. Dean would never admit it but he slept better that night with Bastet's warmth close by. He didn't want to trust but he did.

***

"I have no clue what chicks buy," Dean said the next morning, trapped in the ladies clothing section at Target.

"I'm not a baby chicken, Dean."

"It's a - never mind." Like brother, like sister.

Sam smirked at the exchange as he gathered an armload of different colored t-shirts and tank tops from a display table. He seemed much more at ease with the chick stuff than Dean, but then again, he'd come closer to marriage than either of them. Sam knew intuitively, it seemed, that her biggest problem was she had absolutely no sense of what she liked or disliked about anything, much like a newborn baby.

"Okay, tell me which colors attract you first," said Sam as he held things for her to examine.

Amina studied the selection and pointed to pink, black, and turquoise spaghetti strap tank tops, a lavender three-quarter length shirt with a boat neck, and rather plain t-shirts in deep pink and light blue. Dean tried to be patient but he felt like he was being dragged out for school clothes shopping with the mom and dad he never had. His one contribution to Amina's new wardrobe was a pair of black boots sturdy enough for the night's activities in the woods. Really, spending his potentially last morning alive chick shopping with Sam and a fallen angel made war in Heaven sound appetizing to him.

As Sam led Amina to the girly bras and underwear section, though, Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

"Really, Sammy? You're not serious," he said.

Bewilderment, but an eagerness to learn, crossed Amina' s face as she thumbed through a rack of black lace bras. She seemed oblivious to how private underwear was to women. Dean couldn't  make himself cross the rubber threshold into that section. It was Castiel's  _sister_ , for Christ's sake.

"Somebody's gotta help her, Dean. Grow up," Sam said from deep within the underwear section.

"Dude," he replied, lowering his voice, “you're not _with her brother_. I don't need to know what she wears under her clothes. It's a little too incestuous for my blood."

"Fine, but nobody said you had to help."

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I bet you've got a good handle on it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He glared at Dean and dropped the bras she chose into the cart.

"Oh, I dunno, Sammy. I'm gonna get _killed_ tonight so I can skirt around a _war in Heaven_ for the two percent chance that Cas and I _won't_ get killed permanently, while you're playing footsie with a girl! I'm a _little_ stressed out here! Okay? I don't give a flying _fuck_ about colors and bras and girly shit right now!" It all spilled from his mouth in an uncontrollable volcanic eruption that made more than one head turn.  


"Okay, Dean, okay." Sam patted the air with his hands and approached like placating a wild animal. “Calm down. Take a breath."

"I gotta get out of here. I'll be in the car. Just… Take as long as you need." Before they had a second to stop him, Dean turned and left the maze of aisles in Target.

"Dean!" Sam called after him.

Outside, the hunter exhaled with everything he had. He leaned back in the driver's seat and stared a hole in his baby's ceiling. Rustling in the back seat brought Bastet to the front with a springy cat leap and she sat watching him in expectant silence.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, to be honest. Once again, huge universal forces depended on him not to fail. If he failed, of course, it meant Castiel could be tortured for as long as it took to break their bond. If he failed, it meant he wouldn't be resurrected again. Most people wanted nothing more than to go to Heaven. He wanted nothing more than to stay with his family.

Suddenly, all too suddenly, glass shattered all over him, jolting his mind into reality. Something latched around his throat and squeezed like a snake clamping down on a defenseless mouse. Dean's body yanked through the car window, slamming against the door. He blinked in a haphazard attempt to identify the attacker. The last drops of Castiel's grace in his body reacted to the presence of another angel - burning, alert, and heightened senses. Dean hastily groped his jacket for the angel blade he carried but it dropped to the ground. A clatter on the pavement echoed in his mind.

_Fuck_.  


The angel laughed in a feminine tone. She threw a punch and Dean's face exploded in pain. He hit the ground, dazed and struggling to gain his bearings.

Scuffling broke out above him and he realized Bastet took human form in a split second. She fought the angel like one of the most agile combat expert he’d witnessed. Her long leg kicked the angel square in the face with the fluidity and near laziness of a feline. It seemed so effortless. The angel stumbled backward as if being hit by a blast of light. Dean didn't see anything magical about the way his cat-goddess kicked her, but the dick with wings reacted violently and in horrified defense.

Taking his chance, he shot to his feet and grabbed the angel from behind, forcing her onto her knees. She faced Bastet, who immediately recovered the dropped angel blade. He smiled defiantly as he dug his fingers into the angel's jaw, presenting her throat to the goddess. She struggled and should have easily been able to free herself with a flick of her wrist, but Dean glanced down and noticed his hands glowed white hot light. For the second time, the rush of adrenalin activated Castiel's grace in his veins against his will. The burn of the grace in his hands held the angel hostage.

"Stay out of Heaven," she growled in his hands. “You won't win. He's not yours. He serves God!"

"None of you dicks serve God! Don't give me that bullshit!"

"Dean!" shouted Sam across the parking lot.

Momentarily distracted, Dean watched his brother and Amina running in peculiar slow motion, shopping bags dangling from their hands. Bastet hurled herself at the angel without a second thought and slashed her throat. Painfully bright light exploded from the dead angel's bloody wound and spilled down her sensible black suit. Dean threw himself backwards just before the wings burned into his flesh. The body hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

"What the hell happened?" Sam crouched and examined the body.

"They know I'm coming, Sammy. I dunno how they know. They must be in my head or watching me or something. We gotta get out of here before more come." In passing toward the car, he glanced at Bastet. “Was it you? Are you playing for both teams, Miss Kitty?"

"Be logical, Dean. I'm incapable of not protecting you. The bonding spell." She touched the gold collar around her throat as she climbed into the back with Amina. “If you are killed, I will have failed. If I fail, I lose power in faith."

"Well, how the fuck did they find out?" Dean muttered to himself. He steered the Impala toward the interstate to go back to the bunker.

Sam eyed Dean from the passenger seat. “You can't go now," he said. “It's suicide."

"I don't have a choice. I can't leave Cas there." Shaking his head, Dean refused to be intimidated. “Don't try to talk me out of this, Sammy. Either help me or don't but I'm not leaving Cas there. If I die trying, then so be it. You don't understand."

"The hell I don't!"

Dean sighed and regretted making him think of Jess, especially when he was clearly trying to move on from that dark place in his life. “Okay. Sorry. But that means you should understand why I can't back down now. Leaving him there just isn't an option. So you can help me or not but I'm doing this with or without you. None of this family gets left behind."

"Don't worry, Dean," Amina said soothingly. “We'll be there for you and my brother. Won't we, Sam?"

Sam sighed and combed fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, we're with you."

***

Shadows grew long over Lebanon, Kansas. Dean stood outside the bunker, alone with what he determined to be his last cigarette for quite some time. Maybe forever. It didn't even taste good but the nicotine soothed his nerves - nerves that he hoped he hid well. If anything, he needed Sam to feel confident in this plan as much as he could. So Dean masked all of his fear just for the sake of his brother.

He'd been through the bunker over and over again with Bastet trailing behind faithfully. Not a detail was left to chance. Sure, it might have been a little OCD to arrange and rearrange the room designated for Castiel's recovery, but he knew he would go insane if he didn't occupy himself somehow. The room resembled a strange hybrid of an old hospital and a personal bedroom by the time he was done. He just hoped he could bring home a patient to fill that crisp white bed.

"Hey," Sam said in the bunker's doorway.

Bastet wandered outside in the meantime and rolled in the grass.

"How's it going, Sammy?"

The younger Winchester shrugged lightly and stared out over the Kansas horizon. "I dunno. How's it supposed to be going?"

"Yeah, I know," said Dean. He ground the cigarette butt into the grass. "We always seem to end up here one way or the other, don't we?"

"Yep." A long silence followed. Then, "Dean, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah."

"Absolutely certain? You're gonna  _die_."

"Just for a little while. You're bringing Cas and me back."

Sam sighed as if the conversation wasn't going the way he planned. "You really love him that much? To die and maybe not come back? You could get stuck in Heaven and they could reprogram him."

He knew what Sam was trying to do but he couldn't be swayed. "Sammy, I don't wanna talk about my feelings, okay? No chick flick bullshit. It's distracting from the job. But yes, I do love him that much. It took me a _long_ time to get here but my mind's made up. He's it. He's my one piece of happiness in this shit hole world and they're gonna have to rip me apart piece by piece to stop me from getting him back. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. I get it." Sam glanced to the interior of the bunker.

It wasn't lost on the hunter. Tension uncoiled from his limbs and his voice softened. "If I don't make it back--"

"--Dean--"

"-- _If I don't make it back_ , Sammy, you don't wait for years like I did. Time's a luxury we don't have. You grab that girl in there and you give her the apple pie life that both of you deserve. You do it for Cas and me. Just shut up and nod your head."

Forty different things tried to come out of Sam's mouth. He wanted to argue. In the end, though, he averted his eyes and nodded.

"You seal the deal yet?"

"No!"

Low, rolling laughter made Dean feel normal. "You kiss her yet?"

"Dean..." Sam rolled his eyes a little too hard. "No.  _No_. It's only been like five days."

Dean smirked. "Oh, Sammy. Don't let this take years. Don't be a wuss."

***

Deep in the woods, two hunters, an Egyptian goddess, and a fallen angel prepared for a trip to Heaven.

Dean's laser sharp focus oversaw every detail, even in the dark of night. He gave Amina a bag of rock salt to circle the perimeter of the rendezvous point, the direct link between Heaven and Earth. Sam copied the circular symbol on the ground with a can of blue spray paint from the instructions Isis had given Dean. Off to the side, Bastet crouched elegantly by a campfire heating some mysterious liquid.

Quietly, Dean loaded his clothes with as many angel blades as he could carry. He sat on a fallen log in silence, rigging the blades inside of his jacket for easy access. A shadow blocked his lantern glow, drawing his attention.

"I drew a map," said Amina softly as she knelt, showing him a crude sketch of floorplans. "It's going to look like an office building to you. This is where the superiors manage everything. Here on the fourth floor, however, is a set of back rooms where the troubled angels are purified. When I was cast out, they had Castiel in this corner room right here. So take these stairs and find the left side of the building. There will be soldiers everywhere if they're not called away to fight Mary. You're going to have to kill them to get into the interior."

With a nod, Dean folded the map into his pocket. "Thanks."

He cast a quick glance at Sam, a habit really, as he crouched on the ground reading and rereading the instructions scrawled on papyrus. The younger brother placed four candles in the cardinal directions around the large circle of foreign symbols. Most resembled Egyptian hieroglyphs but many resembled Enochian words as well.

"There's a chance I won't come back," he told the blue-eyed lady.

"I know," she replied.

He wanted to say a lot of things but she wouldn't understand yet. She needed time to know herself as a human. So, he just nodded and said, "Take care of my little brother, okay?"

"Where would I go now? My family disowned me. I am, in essence, an orphan adopted by you hunters." Amina smiled faintly, one of those thin, closed-mouth smiles Castiel gave when he understood but couldn't figure out the proper human response. "Have faith, Dean. If there's a way to save my brother, you're the one to find it. Don't worry about your brother. He'll be fine."

Winds sailed across the treetops and swirled leaves and brush over the ground. It didn't feel like normal wind. It was hot, like standing too close to a cannon blasting across a battlefield. They all craned their heads upward just as clouds swirled and undulated from nowhere, a strange faint green glow back lighting each one. The wind blew through all of them like an approaching storm. Amina held her long, whipping hair off her face and looked to the sky in fear.

"It is beginning," Bastet announced. She rose from her fire.

"The war?" Dean shouted over the wind.

"Yes. Battles between gods and goddesses manifest as the most severe storms on Earth," replied the goddess as she approached Dean with a goblet made of gold filled with liquid resembling absinthe. "Drink."

"What is it?"

"A potion to amplify what grace remains in your human body. You'll need it to fight the angels on their own ground. Drink, now."

Bastet thrust the goblet in his hands. He glanced at his worried brother, knowing he was playing with fire, but swallowed down the bitter liquid. He nearly coughed it back up in the same instant. Nothing so nasty ever passed over his tongue, but as soon as the potion hit his stomach, every vein in his body glowed. Not only did he resemble a human firefly for a long moment, but he  _felt_ Castiel coursing through him too. His scent filled the air. The silky liquid fire of his wings rustled over Dean's entire body, and he felt the fearless lack of emotion common to all angels. All too suddenly, it faded again.

"It'll come back when you need it," said Bastet. "Come to the circle. We must hurry."

The goddess withdrew a gold sword of comparable size to the angel blades, except Dean noticed Egyptian hieroglyphs etched into the yellow metal. He followed her into the circle, feeling static electricity as soon as he crossed the outer border.

"Lie down in the center," Bastet instructed.

"Wait." Dean  turned to Sam. A thousand words clogged his throat but none found their way to the surface. He wondered how many more times they were going to be forced into watching the other die. At times he thought their family must have been cursed. Yes, he hated being the one to save the world all the time, but saving his own family from destruction over and over again exhausted him more than anything he thought imaginable.

"I know, Dean." Sam did know. He always knew. The younger Winchester grabbed the older one in a tight embrace. "Go kill some assholes and bring Cas home. Two a.m., I'll start the spell and incantations."

Dean let him go after a minute and nodded. "Yeah." He took a breath. "Okay, let's do this."

"Mother Mary be with us all," Amina pleaded to the stormy sky.

Though his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest, Dean never let them see his fear. He spread out on the ground in the middle of the circle - the doorway between Heaven and Earth. Hands folded over his stomach, he watched the swirling clouds above him. Lightning jumped from cloud to cloud in a terrifying but awesome dance in the sky.

Nearby, Sam and Amina watched as Bastet stood facing away from Dean's feet, her hands stretched upward. The Egyptian sword pointed from her right hand and incantations spilled in lyrical, dramatic syllables from her lips. She appealed to someone - Dean thought he heard the words Osiris and Anubis along with Isis, but he couldn't be certain. His vision blurred the louder she appealed to her fellow deities. A light spilled from his chest and his body went numb.

Bastet stepped over him, straddling his waist. Her golden cat eyes glittered into lifelike flames as she gripped her sword's handle in both fists. The sword raised high above her head.

Time suspended. Motion in the trees and clouds froze.

Sticky wetness exploded like a geyser over Dean's throat, splashing over his face in dark splatters. His last conscious thought was the realization that Bastet jammed the Egyptian sword straight into his heart. Blood gushed in a valiant effort to sustain life.

Dean Winchester died again.


	11. Don't Fuck With The Righteous Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war in Heaven begins in a bloody battle of thousands when Dean and Bastet are dropped in it. Together, they have to weave through his memories and fight their way through the fighting between angels and soldiers of the Egyptian Underworld to reach the complex where Castiel is being held captive. Naomi meets him there and tries to poison his mind, but she doesn't count on who is backing him, nor does she count on his ability to smite them all. Will Dean find Castiel before it's too late? Will the spell to resurrect him even work?

A flash of white. A gush of hot wind.

Dean regained consciousness in a place he'd never seen. He blinked and sucked in a breath by force of habit, but quickly realized he didn't actually need to breathe there. No dead man required oxygen.

"Where are we?"

"The Garden of Eden," Bastet said.

She stood guard, her full body somehow taller and more like a feline and a human simultaneously than on Earth. She stood vigilantly nearby with the Egyptian sword glittering in her hand.

"I thought that was on Earth." Dean climbed to his feet and produced one of the angel swords from his jacket.

"As above, so below."

"Right. The pagan thing." They needed a doorway. He scanned the lush vegetation and brightly colored flowers for an escape.

His cat-goddess pointed to part of a stone wall exposed behind climbing vines. “They thought they were clever dropping us here in the middle of nowhere. Come."

"You sure?" Dean followed anyway. “It could be a trap."

"Heaven is a reflection of your subconscious mind. The only traps that can be set are by you. Focus on the target." Bastet pushed the twenty foot stone wall as if it weighed nothing.

Dean ducked through the doorway first, expecting to see the office complex Amina described. Instead, he walked in on an abandoned house. Bastet watched behind him and he froze at the sight of Castiel trapped in a ring of burning oil. Another image of Dean interrogated him. They argued. He felt a fist around his soul as he remembered that moment in painful detail. That was the night he found out Castiel was working with the King of Hell, Crowley. Nothing felt so close to being cheated on in his life.

"Dean," Bastet probed, interrupting the scene. “They're trying to make you doubt him. Keep going. Find the next door."

The hunter pushed his way through the room as fake Castiel yelled at fake Dean that it wasn't broken. He threw open the back door in rage, ready for any other scene but that one.

He found himself standing in a brightly lit warehouse. There was Sam. There was Bobby. And there was Castiel, but then again, it wasn't really him after all.

"I'm your new God," fake Castiel announced.

Like clockwork, Dean felt himself ricochet back to that moment and the betrayal, the pain, and the unadulterated fear. No one could possibly understand what it was like to see that one creature you loved more than anything swallow millions of souls from Purgatory and take on the power of God, something no being in the universe should have done. The worst part of the whole thing was knowing his angel didn't trust him enough to help him in those last days. He resorted to the most extreme solution just so he wouldn't have to depend on Dean. So he wouldn't have to put Dean in danger.

He pressed onward, searching for the next door. Seeing those horrifying memories again ripped apart his soul, so much more painful than the goddess stabbing him with her gold sword. Absently, he glanced behind him to make sure she was still there. He allowed himself to view her as his touchstone with reality. He could do this. He just had to keep going.

The next doorway brought him to a place that he had never spoken to anyone. Not a single soul except himself and Benny even knew it happened. Standing in Purgatory once again, Dean felt his blood turn icy and his body go into high alert as if it was real. Oh yes, the memory was quite real, indeed.

"What's your obsession with this angel?" questioned fake Benny through his thick Louisiana accent.

"We've been through a lot together," fake Dean replied.

"More than us?" The image of the vampire moved closer and cupped fake Dean's cheek.

Fake Dean recoiled despite the residual memory of hips rutting against each other in the dark woods making his body react. He didn't know how to explain why he fucked Benny that one time and even Benny seemed to know deep down that it was a random act of desperation for comfort. Silently, the vampire dropped his hand from fake Dean's face.

"You love that glowing self-righteous winger, don't you?"

Fake Dean still couldn't say it out loud, even after swallowing so much guilt for fucking the vampire.

Real Dean forced himself to shut out the memory. He couldn't stand thinking of what he'd done, nor could he stand feeling the residual fear for Castiel in Purgatory. He lost count of how many monsters he'd killed in the name of searching for his angel. So many prayers to him. So many cold nights being hunted and doing the hunting. Maybe it took sleeping with Benny that one time to force him to admit what he felt for his angel.

As Dean pulled Bastet through the glowing Purgatory doorway, his strength renewed. If he could find his angel among millions of monsters and Purgatory, he could certainly find him in Heaven.

The strong aroma of roses hit Dean before the scene registered. Hazy images focused before him, revealing the scene of the last time he was alone with Castiel. He couldn't move as he watched it. All at once, the force of loving something greater than himself hit him. It hit him so hard that he sharply sucked in a breath.

_"Dean." The angel faced him and flipped back the trench coat so he could straddle the hunter's thick thighs. He grasped Dean'_ _s face, forcing him to look up into his affectionate blue eyes. “You are neither small nor insignificant. You are The Righteous Man. We saved billions of innocent lives because you refused any other course than what your good conscience dictated." He traced Dean's lower lip under the pad of his thumb. “I still think it's worth dying for - to feel and to think for myself. I never had those things before you. My mother and father…" His eyes darkened with emotion, on the verge of tears. Castiel pursed his lips and swallowed hard. "…My mother and father are gone but I'm not alone anymore. You and Sam are my family now."_

_The glisten rimming Castiel's eyes surprised Dean. It looked like tears but the liquid seemed reddish. Tinged with blood. “You're crying," he whispered more in astonishment than judgment. He reached up and swiped a thumb under the angel's eye. A mixture of salty, clear human tears and droplets of angel blood stained his thumb. “I know you want your real family back, Cas. It sucks and it's okay to say it sucks. But I'm glad you finally understand we're family too."_

_A smile twitched his lips. “But Dean, when are you going to understand that you're not small and insignificant?"_

He raked a hand over his hair, passing through the room with a strange combination of longing, renewed courage, and discomfort with someone having faith in him. It reminded him that Castiel did have faith in him, a mere human, and probably waited for him to sweep in and rescue him every second of his captivity. But for that moment, he needed to escape the scene before Bastet witnessed their images having sex. He just didn't want to share that with anyone.

"Wait, Dean." Bastet grabbed his shoulder before he could open the door. “They're out there. I can feel it. It’s a battle." She closed her eyes and went silent for a moment. “Yes, it's the defense of the angelic superiors. Isis sent her Underworld soldiers." Another Egyptian sword materialized in her free hand. She flipped both in unison. “Do not harm the Egyptians. They're on our side."

Dean's jaw clenched and he nodded. A pair of angel blades in each hand, he swung open the door.

Nothing could have prepared the hunter for the sight of thousands of immortal beings spread over an endless landscape, all reduced to hand-to-hand combat. No tanks, no guns, no missiles or cannons. War among gods and goddesses was pure in the way they only relied upon the agility and skill of their servants.

Angels in their typical black sensible suits threw balls of light, destroying half a dozen Egyptian soldiers in a single shot. The Egyptians slashed their way through angels with every kind of ancient blade and spear Dean could conceive of, and they held their ground. Some Egyptians carried shields made of orange light. Others carried shields made of ancient materials that easily belonged in museums, yet still functioned as if built yesterday. It went on as far as he could see and he somehow knew it was only one battle in a lengthy war to come. Shifts in power never happened quickly.

In the distance, a pristine white office building witnessed the battle and bore wounds of its own. Sections of facade crumbled. Scorch marks discolored the unnatural white shade of paint.

Hundreds of angels - only a small percentage of the field - faced Dean the second they sensed his arrival. A strange calm fell over the hunter as the memory of Purgatory infiltrated his body. He knew how to handle the primal simplicity of kill or be killed. Something in him wagered that the angels weren't prepared for the affect a year of bloody nonstop combat training in Purgatory had on him. That stone cold killer in Dean woke from its dormant slumber.

"Cover me," he said to Bastet, who nodded.

Dean flipped a pair of angel blades in his hands and lunged at the nearest angel. Easily, he plunged a blade into the angel's chest, expecting a blast of light and a dead body. The male angel laughed, tilting his head, and staring into the hunter's eyes.

"You mud monkeys never quit, do you?" he taunted. "They never told you these blades don't kill here in Heaven. Aw. Just look at the terror in your eyes."

A handful of nearby angels surrounded him. Just as they grabbed his clothes, a blinding burst of hot, glittering, gold light engulfed them. Body after body dropped in lifeless heaps on the ground, and Dean looked up to see Bastet with her hand extended, the light dying away. Heavy breaths of relief left his body, but only for a moment. The war raged on around them.

"If it doesn't kill them, it will at least slow them down," she directed calmly. "Go for the throats."

"Why didn't you tell me these fucking things are useless here?" he boomed in rising rage.

Bastet said nothing more about it. She turned and gracefully stepped over the corpses of her brethren and the angels toward the office. Dean followed, having no other choice. The angels should have been attacking him from every angle, but they merely eyed his protection goddess in concealed fear.

He stooped and grabbed a battle axe off an Egyptian corpse. It resembled the weapon he carried through Purgatory and, realizing the ancient weapons  _could_ kill, hurled himself at a cluster of angels.  He went into autopilot as angel blood and grace splattered him from head to toe. Their own blades were useless on home turf but clearly something in the Underworld weapons killed them easily. The animal hunter instinct sharpened his focus so intensely that even the Egyptian soldiers began following his lead. Slowly, Dean took control of the entire battlefield, leaving hundreds of dead angels in his path.

They fought. Oh yes, they fought with everything they had, but Bastet's goddess smiting cut them off before any of them could juice up their own angel mojo against him. She proved herself to him in ways yet untested before the battle. A couple of times, he even saved her ass. They became comrades.

"We might need this," said Bastet as she plucked a bow and set of arrows off an Egyptian soldier.

Nodding, Dean slung the elongated basket of arrows over his back and hung the bow over his shoulder. The closer they got to the building, the more Egyptian soldiers surrounded them and built a barrier that the angels struggled to penetrate. Bastet and Dean killed mercilessly if any angel got too close.

In time, they reached the glass doors of the office complex. Dozens of angels raised hands in unison, light juicing up in their hands, while the Egyptians blocked them. Dean knew he could be smited at any second. The last thing he saw as Bastet threw him into the building was a scorching burst of light battling orange and white. Hundreds of angels and Egyptians hurled light at each other and Dean had no idea if anyone survived the atomic blast out there.

Inside the lobby, Dean collapsed on the white marble floor and leaned against the equally white wall. Panting heavily, he allowed himself to recuperate his strength for a moment. He adjusted the weapons he'd collected - the battle axe gripped in his right hand, the bow and arrows properly strapped around his back for easy access.

Consulting his map drawn by Amina, he silently pointed toward the stairs and Bastet followed. Each corner they took, he leaned in slowly like any other hunt, skulking along walls and taking every corridor in silence. The lack of opposition concerned him, as if sensing a trap. Maybe, just maybe, the lack of opposition simply meant every angel had been called to duty in the battle raging outside. Every now and then, he glanced behind him to make sure Bastet still hung with him.

They reached the fourth floor. Dean's body fought him and tensed with anticipation, knowing Castiel had to be close. He glanced at the map at every turn but stopped dead in his tracks when a set of glass doors appeared in the middle of a corridor.

"This isn't right," he whispered.

Bastet leaned over the map and cast her eyes to the glass doors. She sniffed the air in one of her many inherent catlike traits. "An angel is there. A powerful angel."

"Well, Cas is supposed to be at the end of this hall, so I just gotta get through this angel then," he decided, plowing ahead.

"Dean, wait!"

The hunter couldn't be deterred. He tore into the double glass doors with Bastet hot on his heels. They both stopped, finding themselves in an industrial, minimalist office decorated in white and stainless steel. A female angel sat behind a desk, wearing yet another infuriating business suit, sensible stud earrings, and her hair tied back in a bun with side swept bangs. She looked just like the kind of woman who needed to get laid pronto to yank the stick out of her ass. Everything about her reeked of efficiency and bureaucracy.

"Hello, Dean," she greeted in false niceties. "You've proven yourself quite the warrior, haven't you?"

He sneered. "Being trapped in Purgatory'll do that to a guy."

"Yes. Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" She stood and rounded the desk with her arms folded over her chest.

Dean instinctively lifted the battle axe. "Who the hell are you?"

"Naomi. You could say I'm in charge here." Her eyes flashed over his weaponry. "Oh Dean, there's no need for any of that now. You and I are going to speak like civilized beings, all right?"

"There's nothing civilized about what you've done to Cas." A flash of anger made the back of his neck go hot.

The briefest, restrained flash of anger ignited Naomi's eyes with mention of that name as well. "Castiel has never done what he was told. Not completely. He came off the line with a crack in his chassis. As far as I'm concerned, he should be executed for repeated disobedience, but it only reached a critical point when  _you_ came along."

He smirked, his eyes dark with defiance. "Bite me, lady."

Her voice shook with the fight to stay self-possessed, but her temper suddenly exploded. "Leave! Turn around and forget you ever knew Castiel! Maybe then I won't kill you myself!"  


Laughingly, Dean looked over at Bastet, and she smiled back at him with her feline teeth exposed. "She's scared."

"She's terrified," agreed his cat-goddess.

"Here's the thing, Naomi. It  _is_ Naomi, isn't it?" Dean smiled in his most charming manner, although seething rage boiled behind it. "You don't wanna threaten me. You're gonna step aside, let me grab Cas and get out of this shit hole for my own shit hole, because I'm here on your mommy's orders."

Naomi's need to remain self-possessed faltered. "Mother Mary.... She isn't wasting her time on an insignificant little human like you."

"Really?" Of course, Dean made it up as he went along and his bravado headed toward a cliff of possible suicide, but he had nothing to lose. His stormy green eyes took a turn around the room. "Oh, Mary, are you hearing this? Am I insignificant to you?"

He pushed his meager faith into overdrive and internally pleaded for a sign. Seconds passed and nothing happened. Naomi's eyes darted around as well, but as nothing happened, smug satisfaction darkened her emotionless eyes. Quickly, Dean racked his brain for some kind of alternate plan of escape. Bastet was of no help, having really been assigned to  _protect_ him rather than  _lead_ him through the war.

Distant rumbling startled all three of them. It approached faster than a freight train and as loud as a tornado ripping through a city. The ground shook. Violent tremors rippled through the office complex and centered directly on Naomi's office until lights flickered and terror streaked her eyes.

"What was that? Insignificant little human?" Smirking so hard his face ached, Dean strolled toward the angel. "That's right. Mommy's on my side and she's pissed. You kids have been misbehaving for too damn long. Now let me through."

The rumbling quakes stopped with his command to let him through as if it had all been choreographed. Naomi stood there rather dumbfounded for a long moment. She glanced behind her at the wall raised forward from the main structure like decoration with strange steel rectangles. Obviously, that was the way out and he went for it, only to run straight into some invisible barrier thrown up by Naomi's hands. She stood between him and the hidden doorway, hands stretched outward, and straining to hold up her invisible wall.

That was it. Dean had put up with enough bullshit from those self-righteous dicks. He knew time was running out and Sam would begin the spell for the return trip soon.

Fire bubbled in Dean's veins with the flood of anger and adrenalin. He recognized the sensation that time. It didn't feel uncontrollable or frightening anymore. His own hand raised in response to Naomi's and a blast of Castiel's hot, whitish-blue light erupted from his palm. It spread over her invisible wall, illuminating the entire room and threatening to engulf all of them in flames. It felt like a battle of wills. Nobody was more stubborn than Dean Winchester. An extra blast of Castiel's grace pushed through his hand with a jolt of his body.

Naomi's wall shattered like glass consumed by the light. Shards of it hit the floor and disappeared as if they never existed. The blast thrust Naomi into the back wall through her chest. Her head bounced off the wall and she crumpled to the floor.

Standing over her, Dean grabbed a fistful of her white blouse and boomed, "You don't fuck with the Righteous Man!"

He didn't know where that came from as he and Bastet pushed through the false doorway to the corridor displayed on Amina's map. Truthfully, he hadn't expected Mary to back him up with the war in full swing outside, but she was there when he called for her. He didn't know how to cope with someone actually keeping a promise. One thing was for certain - tomorrow he might feel insignificant again, but in that moment, he knew his own power as a man. He felt like he might actually win.

"I'm glad you finally learned to use their magic against them," said Bastet as they peered into rooms searching for Castiel.

"Is that why you didn't tell me the blades were useless up here?"

"You had to touch your anger," she replied.

Dean thought it was a waste of energy to psychoanalyze his participation in the war while still in enemy territory. A door at the end of the corridor drew his attention. He couldn't explain it. He just knew.

"There," he told her. "Cas!"

Faster than he'd run in his life, Dean bolted down the corridor and threw his entire body weight at the door. It flung open without resistance. Damp darkness greeted him and he paused so his eyes could adjust. A dark shape came into focus. There was the table he'd seen in his vision with Castiel splayed over it, bound by stainless steel restraints. No movement. No stirring. No recognition that he was even there.

"Cas?" His voice sounded small and terrified.

Dean closed his fist and willed light to appear so he could see better. Using his own hand as a flashlight, he illuminated Castiel's body. Shredded clothes, filthy, and stained with blood hung over his limbs, showing the Enochian words carved into his legs and arms. Both of his shins looked swollen and bruised - the broken bones Amina warned him would be there. Those beautiful wings looked torn and broken with raw, exposed meat and visible shattered lines where the bones snapped.

Worst of all, Dean couldn't recognize Castiel's face. Purple, blue, black, green, and yellow bruises of varying stages of healing stood out from beneath blood smeared and clotted from face to chest. His eyes swelled shut and his jaw looked puffy as if he'd been repeatedly battered. There were, however, defensive wounds all over his hands, wrists, and forearms. Abrasions and cuts spoke clearly to Dean that his angel had indeed fought his captors with everything he had.

"Can you hear me, Cas?" Dean leaned close hoping the broken angel would catch his scent and regain consciousness.

Slight movement in Castiel's lips brought relief but Dean couldn't make out any words. "What?" he said. "It's Dean. I'm here. You're coming home, okay?"

He tried again. "I'm dying, Dean," he whispered.

"Hell no, you're not! You're just banged up. I got you now."

A new burst of adrenalin coursed through the hunter and he threw down his weapons. On the floor with the marker in his pocket, he began drawing the corresponding symbol to the one Sam drew on Earth. His hand shook trying to focus on the drawing and keeping his fist lit by grace at the same time.

The cat-goddess ran into the room and slammed the double doors shut. "They're coming! Hurry!" She grabbed the arrows and jammed them through the curved door handle.

"Is it two?" he demanded loudly.

"Nearly, yes," she replied as she broke Castiel's steel restraints with bursts of golden glittering light. "They know the rendezvous time is two."

Dean hurried through drawing the large, round symbol on the floor but checked it over multiple times with the drawing in his pocket. Nothing could be left to chance. The light of his fist snuffed out as the angels pounded on the door, first trying to push it open with their bodies, but soon blasting it with shots of grace. He shot to his feet, uncertain of how to move Castiel without hurting him more. There was no easy way to do it, he decided.

"Help me. Take his legs. Be careful," he requested of Bastet.

At Castiel's head, Dean slid his hands underneath him and hooked his hands under both his wings and his arms. "I'm sorry. This is gonna hurt." Looking to Bastet, he nodded. "Quick but gentle. One. Two. Three."

They lifted the angel off the torture table and swiftly moved him to the floor. Castiel howled like an animal caught in a trap, which churned Dean's stomach in violent nausea. The pair of them placed Castiel in the center of the symbol, just as the doors exploded open and angels piled into the room. Dean instinctively threw himself between them and his angel, ready for the fight.

Bastet charged the angels and took two of them out with her gold Egyptian sword. One of them flicked a hand and threw her across the room, bouncing off the wall. It stunned Dean - an angel overpowering a goddess. Then he realized, without knowing how, that it was no angel. Gods and goddesses everywhere were choosing sides in this war in Heaven. Bastet breathed heavily, trying to recover her senses, and she made eye contact with Dean. She nodded. He heard her voice in his head, urging him.

Suddenly Dean understood. He rose to his feet within the circle, Castiel lying behind him. Balling his fists, he drew them up to his chest and closed his eyes as the angels came nearer. Expert control overtook every ounce of grace left in his body. One forced blast from his hands, his mouth, his nose, and even his eyes stunned the angels into silence. It all exploded out of Dean's body with the force of a nuclear bomb - or what felt that way to him.

Angels screamed in high-pitched wailing of agony. The room exploded with white light. In an instant, they all vaporized.

Weakened, Dean collapsed on the floor with an arm slung over Castiel by happenstance. An electrical jolt passed up his spine and crushing pain spread through his chest. His last sense of awareness felt like falling - all things falling. Weightlessness. Peace.

"Dean! CAS?!" Sam's voice sounded like a dream.

"Castiel!" An echo of panic reverberated from Amina's throat.

Neither Dean nor Castiel moved on the ground. A younger brother and a younger sister leaned over them, begging them to wake.


	12. Three Nurses and An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After busting Castiel out of imprisonment and torture in Heaven, the Winchester brothers and the fallen angel Amina face the realities of his horrifying injuries. The torture Castiel endured in the name of "reprogramming" him left his grace in such damaged condition that he can't heal his own vessel. They can't very well take an angel to a hospital, so they do what they can for him in the bunker. Venus helps along the way and gives Dean some disturbing news about Bastet's whereabouts. Meanwhile, Sam and Amina inch closer to deepening their friendship into something more intimate. Dean recognizes it, but do they?

Dean Winchester clawed. He fought for Sam's attention, or even Amina's attention, but his body refused to move. Somehow he could see everything going on outside - the raging storm, the angry winds, the trees bending sideways. And then he realized all at once that he wasn't even in his body after all.

Leaning over Castiel, he tried to touch his face, but his hand went straight through the body. The angel was alive, though, and that mattered more than anything to him.

"Sammy! I'm here!" he screamed over the storm.

The younger Winchester didn't hear him. He slapped Dean's face on the ground. Desperation shook his voice as he pleaded with his big brother to wake up somehow. Amina held Castiel's hand and peered over Dean simultaneously. Wavy, wet chunks of hair stuck to her face in the whipping, driving rain.

"Where's Bastet?" she shouted.

"I don't know!" Sam shouted back. “Something must've gone wrong!"

An elegant figure appeared over the crest of the nearby hill, completely untouched by the rain as if made of waterproof materials. Her white and blue Roman robes twisted sensually as if caressed by a light breeze rather than a horrible storm. Without a word, she approached and looked Dean's soul directly in the eyes - if he still _had_ eyes. She knelt near his body and utterly ignored Sam as he cocked a handgun straight at her heart.

"Who are you?" he shouted.

"Venus. Put your gun down, Sam. It won't kill me." Her voice projected easily over the storm but it didn't seem as if she strained at all. “The angels attempted to intercept Dean as he fell. He didn't land in his body. Come, both of you, and put your hands on him."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Where is he?"

"Right there." She pointed directly at Dean’s soul lingering outside of the circle. “Quickly, before it can't be done!"

Immediately, Sam and Amina dropped to their knees around Dean's body and placed their hands on him. Lightning crackled in the sky as if Heaven protested the rescue of those two minuscule beings.

"Will him to return. Fill his body with your love. Draw him back into his life," she instructed.

The three of them closed their eyes. Faint hooks pried into his soul and dragged him closer to the body, while floods of images swamped his mind. He witnessed hundreds of moments with Sam from their childhood that seemed insignificant at the time but made up the happiest points of his life. Overlapping the past, he also witnessed the future hopes and dreams of a newborn human who saw herself still living with the Winchesters years from that day. They both pleaded with Dean to come back to his body for their own reasons, but the universal truth was undeniable love.

A vacuum sensation pulled Dean across the ground. He felt nothing – how could he without a body? But then, in a split second of pain, all physical sensation returned to him. Gasping so deeply that he thought his lungs could have exploded, he shot straight upright into a sitting position on the ground. It took a while for it to register that he had been pulled back into his body. He clutched his chest for a long time. No explanations. No sentiments. Just trying to make sense of it all.

"Dean! Dean! You okay?" yelled Sam between claps of thunder.

He coughed deeply and nodded.

"We've got to get Castiel out of the storm!" Amina urged. “Can you walk, Dean?"

"Yeah! How's he doing?"

They all nearly forgot the goddess Venus sat among them. She held up her hand in a silencing gesture. “I am tasked with assisting," she declared in a steady, if not somewhat dramatic way as she moved over the angel. “Hands!"

Dean instantly knew what she meant and placed his hands along the angel's arm. Hesitantly, the others followed suit. Venus closed her eyes and the ground vibrated beneath all of them. A light groan of pain slipped through Castiel's lips and Dean nearly stopped the proceedings. Just as he decided that, yes, he should stop everything, the rain twisted around them like a cyclone. He met eyes with Sam across Castiel's body.

Instantly, all of them landed on the bed that Dean had designated as where Castiel should recover. Stunned eyes all darted around the room as if they didn't believe the goddess really transported them inside the safety of the bunker just like that.

Sam jumped off the bed and Amina followed. Sopping wet people left puddles on the floor, all except the goddess. She labored over Castiel, her hand hovering over the center of his chest. Purple light filled the gap.

"Hold on. What are you doing?" Dean demanded.

"Silence," retorted Venus.

The goddess focused on Castiel. Nothing happened for quite a while, except the purple glow between her palm and his chest. It looked like a black light, Dean thought absently. He stalked around the corner of the bed, ready to defend Castiel in an instant if she turned predatory. Finally, the light died and she left the bed. Her elegant posture stood before Dean like a doctor poised to give her findings.

"His vessel will heal if it survives the next twenty-four hours," she told him in a quiet, respectful tone. "Look after the vessel as you would any other human body in this condition."

He nodded but his eyes narrowed at the ancient Roman woman. "Okay. What are you not telling me? Just spit it out."

Grave concern blanched Amina's wet face as she stepped closer. To her rear, Sam silently laid a hand on her shoulder. Dean didn't know why exactly, but he grasped her hand. Maybe she needed support. Maybe he was really the one who needed the comfort.

"They were reprogramming him. It's incomplete. His grace is the equivalent of your soul and you are aware of what happens when a soul is scraped raw."

Everyone glanced knowingly at Sam, who ignored them and cast an empathetic eye over Castiel.

"I'm quite sorry, Dean," the goddess said as if she was capable of emotion. "Castiel's grace is not as damaged as Sam's soul was, so there is good news in that, at least. The entirety of Sam's soul had been peeled raw by Lucifer, as you know, but Castiel's grace is merely wounded. I don't believe it's enough damage to affect his memory permanently but only time will tell."

"What do you mean you don't believe? You're a goddess. You're supposed to have all knowing power or whatever it is that makes you this way!" Dean's temper heightened his voice.

Sam's placating voice cut into his distress. "Calm down, Dean."

"Yes, calm down, Dean," repeated Venus coolly. "Every goddess has her function. Mine is not healing. I am not well-versed in angel psychology or medicine. Do you understand? My functions are love, sex, feasting, celebration. All things pertaining to romance. They tried primarily to erase you from his memory, and they almost succeeded. I restored those memories just now. I also mended the parts of his grace that were feeling emotion. If it wasn't for me being here, you wouldn't have your little boyfriend. You could try being a bit grateful."

Dean's jaw clenched and he swallowed a deep breath. "Sorry," he conceded. "Thanks for making sure he remembers me."

"That's better. You're welcome," she replied in an icy tone.

"Damaged grace. I've only seen it once," Amina contributed. "There were horrible nightmares and the angel developed strange phobias of things that reminded him of the torture."

"It sounds like post-traumatic stress," added Sam, who certainly understood the ramifications of torture as well as Dean did.

"Wait - nightmares? Angels don't sleep." It didn't make sense.

Amina's compassionate eyes turned to him and her words sounded hesitant as if trying to cushion the blow. "It's not like human sleep. When an angel's grace is so severely wounded, that angel goes in and out of sort of a hibernation state to facilitate the healing process. Regenerating new grace over the damage is incredibly draining to an angel."

"If you can keep his psyche in the here and now, he has a chance of returning to normal," Venus said.

Dean folded his arms over his chest and rubbed his face, allowing himself a moment to process everything. He didn't know why he expected Castiel to return to them in one unscathed piece. As he eyed the angel on the bed beyond Venus, he realized that it was his turn to put Castiel back together piece by piece just the way Castiel had put him back together after pulling him out of Hell. All things between them were reciprocal. At least he had Amina and Sam, not that he really demanded much help out of them. Dean and Castiel brought this upon themselves and they had to fight the repercussions together.

"Why did you help?" he asked the goddess.

"Orders," she replied.

"Mary?"

Venus nodded. "Do you not remember, Dean? She decreed that Castiel has suffered enough. Did you expect her to leave him so damaged after all the coordination it took to remove him from captivity?"

"Well," shrugged Dean, "that's usually how it goes for us."

A slow smile spread over the goddess' face, though it didn't quite appear to be pleasure or smug satisfaction with the situation. She simply understood his reaction and said, "That wouldn't do much for the condition of your faith, would it? It serves no one to let Castiel suffer anymore. Not him, not his mother, not you, not me, not the armies slaughtering each other in Mary's name, and not these darling little humans in your outcast family." She stood on her tiptoes, lightly grasped his forearms, and kissed his cheek. The scent of apples and cinnamon filled his nose. "Have faith."

"What about Bastet?" Dean chose to ignore the obvious manipulation of restoring Castiel's health in exchange for his faith in Mary.

Venus stiffened, looking away. "The angels are holding her hostage."

"Hostage?"

"You know, some of our deities for some of your deities. Prisoner exchange. Everyone's choosing sides in this war. It's the biggest cosmic event since Lucifer challenged the throne. You should have seen everyone choosing sides back in those days too." Her confidence rose as her posture elongated. "It's different this time. Mary's not after God's throne. She's after her own and she's going to win. She's a crusader for all female deities, for all mothers who have been forcibly separated from their children." Her smile softened. "Bastet will be recovered. Brigid's garrison is searching for her as we speak. You cannot remove the chain until we find her. It's helping us track her movements."

Dean glanced at the gold chain around his wrist. "Fine, yeah."

"Care for your angel now," the goddess urged Dean. She then turned to Amina and caressed her cheek. "You, my dear, are a natural healer. Trust your instincts. Your mother knows of all you've sacrificed."

Tears filled Amina's blue eyes, making them sparkle blue even brighter, and she turned her face away. Sam's hand pressed to her lower back in a silent comforting gesture. She still appeared surprised and awkward about her new human emotions. Their power often made her overreact and she swiped the back of her hand across her cheek.

Venus passed through the bedroom doorway and disappeared in a puff of purple vapor.

A long silence followed as each of them grappled with everything on their plates. Dean, of course, moved first and grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer behind him. Nesting had its advantages. No doctor's office looked more organized than that dresser, he guessed, as he carefully climbed on the bed and began cutting what remained of Castiel's clothes. A slight ache of familiarity threatened as he cut away the sopping wet, shredded trench coat first. He'd gotten used to seeing it all those years. It was almost like a security blanket for both of them.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam's voice cut through the room.

"I'm fine," he replied, completely monotone. "Gotta get the wet clothes off and then..."

The younger Winchester stepped closer to the foot of the bed, looking over the obvious breaks in Castiel's shins beneath Enochian symbols carved into his flesh. "I don't even know where to start," he admitted. "I can't believe what they did to him."

"I can," said Amina, having pulled herself together. "Respiration, stop the bleeding, fluids, and pain medication to start."

Both brothers stopped and stared her down, bewildered.

Shyly, her shoulders shrugged. "Remember, I was Heaven's archivist. Once mankind moved past the Dark Ages, Castiel decided I should specifically keep a record of human development in medicine and science. I saw it all evolve. Plastic surgery after wars, understanding germs and hygiene, the discovery of penicillin, level one trauma centers... I've seen it all."

"Is that what Venus meant by being a natural healer?" asked Sam.

"I suppose so," she replied hesitantly, "but I've never actually done any medical work. Just watched."

Listening carefully, Dean removed ratty chunks of Castiel's clothing, and respectfully, Sam turned away from the nudity. Quickly but gently, Dean tugged a pair of his own black boxer briefs on Castiel, and then pulled the new sheet up to his waist. He guessed the angel had gone into one of those hibernation states in attempts to heal himself. His swollen, battered face looked peaceful. As peaceful as it could under those circumstances.

"Today's your lucky day, Amina," he said. "You're gonna put all that observation to use and start an IV."

"What? Oh, no, Dean. I couldn't ... I've never done it." Panic shook her voice and she backed up a step. "I'm afraid. I don't like this. Fear is so uncomfortable."

"Look, I read the book on it last night. I'll try it first. If I can't get a line, then maybe you can try it. Okay?" Sam nodded to the anxious lady.

"O-okay," she agreed.

Dean felt no desire to argue about who did what at that point or they'd never get anything accomplished. He grabbed one of the IV kits and gloves from one of the drawers and put a chair next to the bed. Sam took a deep breath and sat down, putting on the rubber gloves, and brought Castiel's hand closer. Dean and Amina stood by anxiously as he located what he thought was a vein and rubbed down the target with an alcohol swab. A tense couple of minutes passed as he inserted the needle and switched it out for the saline flush. Abruptly, though, Sam cursed and shook his head.

"I blew the vein," he said. "My hands are too big for this."

Haltingly, Amina circled the bedside as if she wanted to say something, but fingers folded against her mouth showed her fear. She watched Sam get another needle and begin a second attempt.

"Too close," she said.

Sam froze and glanced up at her. "What?"

"You're aiming too close to the blown vein," she said meekly. "His vessel is dehydrated. It would be better..." She sighed, frustrated with her own anxiety, and grabbed Castiel's wrist. With the underside of his forearm exposed, her small fingertip ran along his skin. "It's better along here. Bigger vein, far away from the artery."

"Okay." Sam nodded.

Clearing his throat, Dean attempted to be patient but Sam was clearly the wrong person to do those things. "Amina, you sure you can't try?"

Her eyes darted up to his as if he suggested kicking her own puppy, but something in her eyes took hold of the tiny piece of courage rising to the surface. Abruptly, she left the room. Dean heard the sink running in the bathroom as Sam happily abandoned the chair, his used gloves snapping off into the garbage.

Amina reappeared with wide, frightened eyes, but she clearly fought to hold onto her courage. She accepted new gloves from Sam, although somewhat awkwardly wriggled her fingers into them. For a new human so newly kicked out of Heaven, Dean really had to admire her ability to wrestle her fear to the ground. It must have been an overpowering emotion to someone so new at navigating that minefield of humanity.

"Okay. I can do this. Okay." She peered at her gloved hands and then at her brother's motionless body on the bed. "At least he isn't aware."

"You'll do great. You've watched this more times than an army of nursing students, I bet," said Sam, rubbing her shoulder in encouragement.

Rather than sit, though, she stood close to the bed and leaned over her brother's arm. Dean made himself useful and brought her a new IV needle thing (really, he barely knew what the tools did, let alone their proper medical names). Deep concentration silenced her entire body as she tied a blue rubber tourniquet around Castiel's arm above the elbow and tapped different areas of his inner forearm. When she found what she wanted, she took the needle and, holding it at a carefully precise angle, she slipped it into his vein.

"Okay, I got a flash," she whispered.

"Is that good?" asked Dean, quite tense.

Sam nodded. "It means a flash of blood showing she's in the vein."

Dean held his breath as Amina popped out the needle from the tiny catheter in his arm and twisted on the IV tubing. Then he leaned a bit closer as she attached a different needle to the tubing and pushed saline into Castiel. A moment of watching the fluid safely pass into his arm brought a twitch of a smile to her lips. Quickly, she taped the catheter securely on his arm, hooked up the rest of the tubing to the saline bag, and removed one of Dean's display guns from the wall above the bed to hang the bag on the nail. The brothers watched, completely shocked at how expertly she did all of it.

"Oh wow," she said, allowing it all to sink in, "I actually did it. It worked!"

Thoroughly relieved, Dean laughingly hugged her around the neck. "You're a rock star," he declared. "I really thought we were gonna have to kidnap a doctor or something."

"No, I think we've got it now. The line's open all the way. His vessel needs fluid more than anything. Once his grace has healed, he'll be able to regulate the vessel again like he always did. Damaged grace makes us - I mean _them_ \- more human than they care to admit." She moved past Dean to the dresser and searched his drawers of stolen supplies. "Did you get opiates?"

"Opiates ... you mean morphine?"

"Yes. He needs pain medication before you can set the bones in his legs and stitch up his lacerations."

"Will that even work on an angel?" asked Sam.

"It works on his vessel and he feels his vessel," Amina replied.

Sam's tall frame fit around Amina from behind and reached into the correct drawer for the little bottles she needed. They perpetually gravitated to one another more with each passing day but only Dean seemed to recognize it. As emotionally constipated as he lived, that was saying something.

Dim jealousy aside, Dean refused to give in to pressure and let go of Castiel. They'd have to kill him first. He sat in the bed opposite the patient's IV arm and wondered what sort of angel came back to him. Putting his vessel back together seemed impossible enough but questioning the condition of ...  _him_ ... took Dean to a place of silent dread. He tilted over Castiel, careful not to press on his body, and lightly brushed fingertips over his swollen jaw.

"He's gonna be okay, Dean," offered Sam quietly.

"You don't know that," Dean said in abrupt darkness. "I don't know how to fix everything they've fucked up in him."

"We take it day by day, like we always do." Crossing the room, the younger Winchester gave a manly but supportive squeeze to Dean's shoulder.

Hours passed into the night as the three of them worked on Castiel's injuries, not that any of them even realized night fell without windows in the bunker. After Amina checked the medical books in the bunker library, she sent morphine through the IV, and the Winchester brothers set broken bones as best as they could. They had quite a bit of experience with broken bones, dislocated joints, sewing up ugly wounds, and so forth, after years and years of patching each other up between hunts.

Amina decided they couldn't sew him up yet because his wounds looked more than a day old. He needed antibiotics first, she determined, and Dean already knew better than to argue. The more she found her footing that night, the more she bossed the brothers around like a veteran hospital nurse. They bandaged everything securely and crafted removable splints for Castiel's broken shins out of tree branches and rolls of cotton and ace wraps. Occasionally, Amina referenced battlefield medicine in her explanations as if she had witnessed the Civil War or World War I. Little moments existed in which Dean temporarily forgot Castiel's sister observed the human condition for thousands of years, just like him. That slender, somewhat tall human lady with long, wavy, dark Novak hair and big Novak blue eyes was, just over a week ago, a powerful multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent.

Close to midnight, Dean dozed alone in a chair at Castiel's bedside. His head bobbed as his body started to fall into exhausted unconsciousness, which woke him with a jolt. The others had long since left Castiel to rest quietly and, Dean suspected, left him with some much needed alone time. His feet dropped off the edge of the bed and he leaned closer from his chair, grasping the angel's hand. Castiel made an unexpected _mmmh_ sound with the physical contact and his fingers lightly flexed in Dean's hand.

"Cas? You awake?" he asked with high hopes.

Another  _mmmh_ passed his busted lips.

Dean shot to his feet and leaned over him. "Don't try to talk. Just rest." He forced his voice to remain soft and calm. "Squeeze my hand once if you know who I am. Twice if you don't."

It took a minute and Dean wondered if he was really conscious at all, but then he felt a single solid squeeze around his hand.

His mind raced. "Do you know where you are? Once, yes. Twice, no."

The double squeeze felt like pulses - light, but clearly there.

"We're holed up in a bunker in Kansas. It's safe here so you can heal. Your mother sent us here. I mean the Virgin Mary. She didn't abandon you, Cas. Remember that. So rest. You're gonna be okay. I have Amina and Sam to help too." He chose to omit that Amina no longer existed as an angel. Telling him as much as he did in that condition probably confused and overwhelmed him anyway. "You're gonna be okay, Cas. I busted you out of that place. Do you want more pain drugs right now?"

A single squeeze.

"Okay. Your legs must be killing you. I'm allowed to give you a bolus or whatever Amina called it." Dean grabbed the needle she had already pre-measured for him and rounded the bed to the port in the IV line. "She's a really great nurse. You're gonna be proud of her. This is gonna make you feel high. Don't freak out on me."

As Dean slowly pushed the plunger down, the morphine flowed easily into the line. He noticed Castiel's other hand lift to his face but said nothing as he haphazardly inspected the damage to his body. From his swollen, battered eyes to his equally swollen, battered jaw, his hand moved to the bandages covering Enochian symbols carved on his chest. A heavy sigh filled him. Dean knew Castiel's subtle signs of frustration better than anyone. Once the injection finished, he leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead - slow, lingering, healing.

"It's just gonna take time. They beat the shit out of you but I see the defensive wounds. You fought back. I bet they didn't know you were that tough," he said, dipping his voice to a low, intimate softness. "Once your grace is healed up, you're gonna be back to your old self and you can fix all this in a second. Just let me work on your body until then. Okay?"

A faint nod and Castiel's tongue wet his lips. "Thank you, Dean." It sounded hoarse and strained, but at least he spoke.

"Well, you know, I ... you know ... I love you," he admitted.

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile pull at Castiel's mouth as his hand found Dean's cheek. Only a second later, his hand fell away and another long breath of exhaustion passed through him. Nothing changed, really, except Dean felt Castiel retreating into that strange sort of hibernation so far inside the body that it seemed like he needed to hide to recover.

Once certain that Castiel actually drifted into rest, Dean took the opportunity to slip out for a late-night snack. He left the door open in case the recovering angel called out for anything, and he made his way down to the kitchen.

Voices stopped him abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. He peered around a wall at Sam sitting on the table in the main hall with a foot propped on a nearby chair. Amina stood close to him with tears rolling down her face, again. Her body jerked with a sharp intake of breath and Dean realized she choked on sobs rather than simply going through more overwhelmed tears. Sam laced his fingers through hers and studied her face as if looking for a response.

"It's like meeting your brother again after a terrible hunt and realizing he doesn't have a leg or an arm," she mumbled.

Dean's face twisted. The hell?

"Sure, but he still has wings and the halo. Dean would've said something if he didn't," replied Sam patiently, almost tenderly.

"I know." Amina tried to wipe her eyes. She nodded bravely and finally met gazes with Sam seated on the table. "Being human makes me blind to things I took for granted. Never seeing my brother's wings or his true form again ... it's difficult to accept. Seeing Castiel's true form could kill me now. I feel so small, so weak."

An understanding nod answered her. "You didn't say anything today."

"Well," she replied with a bit of a chuckle, "I don't think Dean likes it when I cry. He won't even look at me. I don't like it when I cry either though. It's not a pleasant human habit. Sometimes I simply can't stop these emotions from paralyzing me."

"Yeah. Dean's a little crusty on the outside but you'll get to know him better soon. He's really a big softie inside. You'll see. And I think you just need time to get used to your emotions." He shrugged, giving her a bit of a smile. "Cry if you gotta cry, Mina. Yell if you gotta yell. One day you'll find a happy medium in there somewhere. Dean and I aren't going anywhere. Cas is always gonna be your brother. Just remember the constants around you. The rest will fall into place."

Her cheeks puffed with a smile of her own and her eyes cast downward, rather shyly. "You lost a syllable of my name."

"I did?"

She nodded. "You said Mina."

"Oh," he replied, smirking bashfully. "Most people have nicknames. My whole name is Samuel. I won't use it if you don't like it."

"No, I like it. Mina," she repeated for the sound of it.  With a deep breath, the new human appeared to return to a sense of calm. "Tomorrow I have to teach Dean to clean wounds on angel wings. It's not like human wings. Since I can't see..."

"Think about that tomorrow."

Sam's voice turned so quiet and intimate that Dean wondered from around the corner if he worked up the nerve to make a move on her. That courage never did come naturally to him the way it did for Dean, except when he had no soul. Amina's gaze certainly lingered on him like a girl with a crush, but nobody knew if she even understood that part of herself yet.

Just as the older brother decided to turn back and leave them in privacy, he witnessed Sam loop his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest. His unusually large body swallowed hers up in a tight embrace. He held her chastely, but as her cheek turned and rubbed his shoulder, her eyes closed. Sam hooked his chin over her shoulder and buried his face in her hair, a wide hand cradling the back of her head. He never kissed her but it all seemed rather clear to Dean.

He didn't know why he paid such close attention to the nuances developing between his brother and the fallen angel though. Maybe he was jealous in some way. Nothing hunted them for a clearly deepening attraction (whether they admitted it or not). No one would stare at them on the street for being a same-sex couple. They weren't called an abomination for a myriad of reasons designed only to further selfish agendas. If they miraculously quit being so reserved and clueless, hardly a ripple in the universe might alert anyone that they were together. It seemed so simple for them.

Silently, though still so very hungry, Dean padded back upstairs. He stood guard over his angel until dawn. A new day began with the family still together and still fighting everything the universe threw at them.


	13. It's All Fun And Games Until Sam Wants A Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being holed up in the bunker with morose Dean and recovering Castiel has driven Sam into cabin fever, which makes him take Amina on her first trip to the grocery store. He realizes his feelings for her run deep when he catches himself sacrificing the things he wants so he can afford to give her what she wants. On a whim, he applies for a job on a construction crew in a sudden need to provide for the family. Luckily Dean is too exhausted to really argue over such a traditional life choice. They can't hunt with Castiel laid up and the war raging in Heaven - they all know it, just as Dean knows the angels still want his head on a platter. Sam finds himself stepping into the shoes of head of the family inch by inch as everyone in the bunker separately asks him to watch over the others. Even Castiel is beginning to depend on him. But how does Amina feel? Does she want him the way he wants her? The answer comes as another battle in Heaven manifests another freak storm on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I switched POVs for this chapter from Dean to Sam. I've never written Sam POV before but I think it's a good time now since Dean is occupied with helping Castiel recover. Developing Sam and Amina's relationship should be done through Sam's eyes anyway, not Dean's view of it.

Sam sacrificed a lot that day just to see those smiles.

To start, he let Amina steer the shopping cart in the grocery store just because she seemed so excited about something so mundane. He stood by patiently as she combed through the fruit and vegetable bins for more than fifteen minutes. All he saw was his wallet draining like sand through an hourglass, but as she sniffed a plum and smiled with simple pleasure, he suddenly didn't care so much.

"I wish Castiel could love these sweet things like I do. It's not the same when you're an angel. The vessel tastes the plum, of course, but it's not satisfying or nourishing," she said as she tied a bag of plums closed and dropped it in the cart next to the bag of apples. “I think he would like fruit too if he was human."

"He likes flowers," Sam said, the memory resurfacing unexpectedly.

"Does he?" Amina's eyes flashed up at him. She seemed to file away that piece of information for later. “Yeah, he always did like Heaven's gardens. I didn't know it translated to Earth too."

She steered their shopping cart where she pleased and Sam strolled along beside her. Although he tried to ensure some necessities, such as cleaning supplies and basic food essentials the way people bought things for new homes, he generally allowed the shopping trip to be her learning experience. Her gravitation toward bright colors made her choose a lot of junk food impulsively until Sam stopped and explained the difference between health and junk. Given the choice, she almost always preferred food naturally grown rather than chemically enhanced. He took that as a personal victory. Dean never listened when he tried to teach him. His older brother was much too set in his ways in trying to emulate their father for years to listen. He gave up on improving Dean's health a long time ago.

More sacrifices came in the beauty and health aisles. Sam purposefully chose the cheapest shampoo he could find for Dean and himself just so Amina could have what she wanted. Of course, she never knew he made such sacrifices. He didn't want her to know. Hey just wanted to keep seeing her little smiles of victory whenever she made a choice for herself.

Hair brushes, barrettes, combs, dyes, rubber bands, and every other kind of beauty implement stared at him from hooks on the shelves. She took her time, looking over everything with a careful eye. Somehow he unconsciously took on a more masculine posture with his arms folded over his broad chest and his legs planted somewhat apart as if making room for the biggest balls on the planet. It wasn't like anyone would question his masculinity standing there in a beauty aisle with a lady. Anyone walking by would assume she was his girlfriend or wife. He rolled his eyes at himself and waited.

Silently, Amina chose a set of silver combs in the shape of wings. Her face remained unreadable, though he feared the reminder would send her plummeting into depression. She fingered the wings and smiled softly.

"What do you think?" she wondered aloud without looking at him.

"They'd look beautiful in your hair," he replied honestly.

"I think I prefer being a lady over a man. I’m glad I wasn't cast out in a male vessel." It sounded so definite, so final, as she dropped the silver combs into the cart.

"I'm glad you're a lady too," he said absently.

"Oh?" Her eyes turned up to his and her eyebrow arched. “My gender makes a difference to you?"

"Well, sort of." Shit. He stuck his foot in his mouth on that one. Maybe it was time to test the waters a little. “I mean, you know, I like you. We have good stuff in common."

A slow smile plumped her face but he couldn't quite tell if she understood. “I like you too, Sam. We have good stuff in common, as you say." She faded into thoughtful silence for a moment, and then murmured, “I don't know what I would do without you," so quietly that he thought he imagined it.

He decided to let the moment ride and not push her. Instead, he watched her scan a rack of nail polish, utterly transfixed by the selection. She chose a shocking pink, a red like someone might imagine on Marilyn Monroe, and a blue that she decided had been purposefully matched to her new eye color. In the next aisle over, she chose three different magazines for herself to acclimate to female culture, as she put it. Vogue, Cosmo, and some sort of Martha Stewart homemaker kind of magazine that Sam never heard of before.

An accumulation of female things for her new bedroom and the second bathroom she’d claimed as her own filled one side of the shopping cart. Sam wondered what this was all going to cost him but he couldn't bring himself to deny her anything she wanted. She took to being female so well that she quickly became one of the more ladylike creatures he'd ever encountered. There was something classical about her. Timeless. A natural sensual sway in her walk suggested the red nail polish wasn't her only Marilyn trait. Yet she had the knowledge of the universe stored in her mind. In an instant, she could switch from an inherent sweet girlishness to solid discussions of philosophy, history, human evolution, and everything else that fascinated him.

They stopped at a wall of refrigerated bins containing everything from the butcher's counter that day. She wrinkled her nose at the sight.

"Dean will want hamburger and steak, I suppose," she said as she approached the refrigerated selection. “Oh, Sam. I hope he knows my affection for him if I'm elbow deep in dead animal carcasses. Does he eat chicken too?"

"He eats any kind of meat. It's not hard to make him happy." Laughing, Sam tugged the sleeve up on his flannel shirt and helped her choose.

In time, the two of them filled their shopping cart with everything they expected they'd need to make the bunker more like home. Sam made sure to stock up on canned food and non-perishables, probably a deeply ingrained habit born of never really having a home, except in college.

Amina chose nearly four dozen roses in varying colors near the checkout lines, making Sam blanch at the price.

"Some of them are necessary to treat Castiel's wing wounds," she said.

"Roses?" Sam repeated skeptically.

Nodding, she loaded items on the belt scrolling toward the cashier. “It's part of a salve. You'll see. Trust me, Sam."

He did trust her but the money situation concerned him all the more. It occurred to him that they wouldn't be on the road for at least a few months, which meant their usual pool and poker hustles wouldn't work. They had more than just the brothers to think about too. Each day pushed him closer to understanding that someone had to provide for the family. And as they left the grocery store, a bulletin board caught his eye advertising jobs, missing persons, lost pets, and so forth. A construction crew in Lebanon was being put together to build a church. Irony aside, construction paid pretty well. During the drive back to the bunker, Amina flipped through one of her magazines and Sam applied over the phone for a spot on the crew.

Amina and Sam found Dean making a pot of coffee in the bunker kitchen as they arrived, their arms overloaded with bags. His scruff grew more scraggly by the hour and his clothes wrinkled in neglect. Dark circles had formed around his eyes overnight, but he didn't quite seem as downtrodden as he had the previous night.

"Hey," Sam greeted as he slung bags on the counter.

"Geez, Sammy, you buy out the whole store?" jabbed Dean.

"Moving into a new place." He shrugged off the truth that he just couldn't deny Amina anything.

"How's Castiel? Has he been conscious at all?" she inquired.

As Dean helped Sam put away groceries, he nodded. “He's up now. Asked for coffee."

"Really?" She tilted her head.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, “he likes coffee a lot."

"You should take it to him. He's been asking for you too," said Dean as he poured a cup and thrust it into her hands.

A faint glimpse of anxiety shadowed her face. Brother and sister hadn't actually had their proper reunion yet and Sam wondered exactly how long it had been since before their last meeting in Heaven. He knew the last time she spoke to Castiel had been astoundingly painful and resulted in her being cast out for refusing to participate in his torture. A moment of hesitation and Amina carefully carried the coffee off to the bedroom and her brother.

"She adjusting okay?" Dean asked once alone with his brother.

"Yeah, I think so. She liked shopping. She said she prefers being a woman over a man." He shelved cans in the pantry.

A smirk lifted Dean's tired visage. “Bet you do too."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying, man," chuckled the older brother.

Eager to divert the subject, Sam blurted out the news about the job. “I applied for a construction crew. They're building some new church around here somewhere. I pretty much got hired once I told the foreman I’m six-foot-four and all that."

"The hell? Why'd you do that?"

"I gotta do something with myself, Dean. We're obviously not hunting anytime soon with Cas laid up, and I'm betting the angels still want your head on a platter." As he argued his case, Sam grabbed an apple for himself from the fruit drawer in the refrigerator. “We need money anyway. I don't think it's a good idea to hustle here. If we get busted by the cops, we can't come back. If this is gonna be home, we gotta do it right." He paused, studying Dean’s stony expression. “And anyway, you've worked construction crews before too."

"I was providing for Lisa," Dean replied.

Sam's face shifted in the most obvious 'don't you get it' look he could muster. They stared each other down over the kitchen island. Sam chewed his apple rather calmly until Dean's stare broke first, blinking as if he realized what he just said. He knew his older brother wasn't so dense as to overlook his need to provide and be normal. The truth was Sam felt deep excitement with the thought of getting up before dawn to haul lumber and earn real money in satisfying labor. At the end of the day, he'd come home to the bunker and see Amina, Dean, and Cas - but mostly Amina. Very romantic ideas about providing for a woman and living a normal life, even if it was temporary, enticed him.

"Okay, Sammy. Go play Johnny Builder and impress Miss Blue Eyes in there," Dean relented with a dismissive wave.

They did that more than Sam cared to admit. One read the other's expressions and mannerisms, and responded conversationally as if those private thoughts had been spoken aloud.

"It makes sense for me to be the one to work," said Sam reassuringly. “Cas needs you here and Amina knows how to nurse him. I'm just in the way most of the time. At least this way I'm useful. I'm putting food on the table and maybe I can save a little."

"Yeah." Dean nodded and rubbed his eyes through a yawn. “Yeah. It's okay. You're right." Then he abruptly shook his head. “I mean, no, you're not in the way and you're not useless. We need the money though. You're right about that." He yawned once again following a repetitive string of phrases.

"You should go to bed for a while," Sam urged in a gentler tone.

The struggle to decide played out on Dean's features. He always felt responsible for everyone around him.

"Seriously," Sam insisted a little harder, “go to bed. I'll watch Cas."

Reluctance and hesitation filled Dean but he relented nevertheless. Sam couldn't remember the last time he saw his brother really sleep since his nightmare began and he hoped his brother would catch up longer than his usual four hour stretch.

"Morphine went in two hours ago," Dean reported as they climbed the stairs. “Antibiotics are due in forty-five minutes."

"Got it." Sam committed the times to memory.

They parted ways and Dean shut the door, borrowing Sam's bedroom for his rest. The younger brother made his way further down the corridor and lightly rapped on the door. Subdued voices gave him entrance and he found Castiel propped up a bit straighter on three pillows. Amina perched on the bed beside him. Though the angel's eyes still looked painfully battered, slivers of blue looked over at Sam with warmth and affection.

"Sam," he rasped a weak greeting.

"Hey, Cas. How goes it?"

"It goes nowhere. It seems I'm… I'm grounded for a while," he said with just the slightest hint of humor in the deplorable situation. “Where's Dean?"

"I sent him to bed now that Mina and I are home." The overt familiarity in the way he spoke of Castiel's sister and calling that place home in a show of permanence surprised him, but it felt natural too. He averted his eyes, hoping Castiel didn't read him too closely. It made him wonder if angels were overprotective in those situations. “So, uh, how are you feeling then?"

"Entirely too human. Everything hurts but the opiates help. I'm quite confined. It's a strange sensation. I don't like it." If Castiel caught the familiarity between Sam and Amina, he ignored it.

"You have to rest. If I can be human, so can you," said Amina kindly, yet a maternal tone edged her words. “Be grateful to the Blessed Mother that we're alive and we've been provided for with the Winchesters."

Castiel's face rolled on the pillow to look at his sister. “Are you certain it was her?"

"I've seen a great deal in your absence. We have time to talk about it all when you're stronger. Don’t worry. The Blessed Mother will win this war and everything will be better." Faithfully, Amina caressed her brother's bruised cheek. Her smile softened into mild amusement. “You sound like Dean more than I expected."

Sam laughed. “Yeah, they're made for each other like that."

Twisting around on the bed to face Sam, the fallen angel smiled. She rose to her feet and passed him with an unconscious caress just above his elbow. The touch rippled a spark straight through his stomach. Christ, it was getting worse. He didn't know what to do about it, except put on his best poker face in front of Castiel. No man in his right mind would show attraction to a sister right in front of her brother, screwed up angel family or not. He didn't even know if she could understand that kind of attraction yet anyway, or whether she would even want him. Damn it, his brain spun in circles around the same things he'd been thinking for days. His conscience sounded like a broken damn record.

"I'm going to make the salve for when Dean gets up. Will you stay with him until he needs his medication?" She stood so close that faint flecks of gold and green around her pupils distracted Sam. So did the faintest scent of ... roses? It must have been the flowers she bought. Her brow lifted, concerned. "Sam, are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." Self-conscious about whether she knew, he tore a hand through the length of his hair and took a breath. "Sure, I'll watch Cas. No problem."

"Thanks," she said, the slightest twinge of questioning in her tone.

Amina left him alone with Castiel, an event that didn't happen too often. The few times they had been alone in the past happened mainly because Sam bolted from a conflict and Castiel dragged him back to face it. He pulled up a chair close to the bed so the angel wouldn't have to move too much to see him. The IV bag would have to be changed soon, he noted to himself as he appraised the patient.

"Sam, you seem bothered," Castiel commented.

"I'm always bothered." Sam chuckled at his attempt to joke.

The angel fell silent and stared at him for a moment. Then he shifted tracks, saying, "I want to thank you for watching over Amina. Casting an angel out of Heaven is worse pain than death. At best, it's like raising a toddler in a fully grown human body." Another bout of silence punctuated by a deep breath. "I didn't know what happened to her. I thought they killed her. They kept telling me that my time for execution was on the horizon. Dean told me she was here and I..." A second deep breath as if talking about it brought fear out of him.

"It's okay. She's great." Sam did his best at reassurance.

"She's concealing her trauma," said Castiel bluntly.

Of course, Sam knew Amina had told him that Castiel would do the same thing, concealing his trauma. The two of them, outcasts and misfits in their family, looked out for each other the way he and Dean did, which humanized the angel a bit more in his eyes.

"She said you were fledglings together," he said in an effort to divert the subject to something lighter.

"Yes. Newly created angels go through what you might compare with human infancy and childhood. One of the archangels typically watched over new fledgling nests and taught us everything we needed to discharge our duties," he explained quietly. "Gabriel was ours."

Sam laughed. "Gabriel raised you? The trickster?"

"Yes." A smile quirked Castiel's mouth.

The two of them talked for quite a while there alone in that room while Dean slept and Amina kept herself busy. Sam actually enjoyed the chance to know Castiel without others being around them. He listened to stories from before Heaven lost its marbles and the angel seemed to enjoy telling them. Amina and Castiel were as close as any human siblings, which Sam understood on a deeply personal level.

Sam listened to a story about Gabriel teaching Castiel to control his ability to fly as he prepared a dose of antibiotics and a morphine bolus. He grasped the IV port and leaned elbows on the bed to steady the injection. A growling sort of painful howl erupted from Castiel's clenched teeth, yet Sam wasn't even touching him. He jumped back from the bed, wide eyed.

"Cas?!"

The angel's chest rapidly filled and deflated as he panted in pain. He haphazardly pointed along his side at the empty space on the mattress. "Wing," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

"Oh, crap. I'm sorry." It dawned on Sam that he basically jammed his elbows into broken and ripped up angel wings.

"You can't see," he said, steadying himself again. "It's all right, Sam."

"Okay, well, I guess you're going off to sleepy land again," he said, taking the IV port. "What's that like for you anyway? It's like you're not even here when it happens."

"I'm not. It's not sleep either. The closest idea you might understand is meditation or astral projection but it's not quite the same. An angel healing such damaged grace retreats within and that looks to you like - what did Amina call it - hibernation. I'm not truly asleep, however, drugging my vessel induces the 'hibernation' state." Castiel's eyes closed and his face relaxed. "I'm in my garden."

"Your garden?" asked Sam as he fed the drug into the line.

The angel nodded. "It's a place I created within for peace and quiet. My garden is endless with bright flowers like you've never known on Earth, a stream rolling through the center of it, and animals that never have to kill one another to survive."

"Sounds nice."

"It is." Castiel's voice faded, drowsy.

Sam leaned over him and gave his shoulder a brotherly pat. "Go heal up your grace in that garden then. Amina and Dean are okay."

Hazy words slurred from Castiel's lips. "Sam, please, don't let Dean do anything reckless."

"I won't. Don't worry," the younger Winchester promised.

He waited a few minutes just to be certain Castiel drifted off to his garden and his vessel didn't react badly to the drugs. Silently, he recorded the time he administered the drugs in the notebook Amina had left by the bed. No human medication could technically kill Castiel but she always expressed concern about harming his vessel. Accidentally forcing the angel to abandon that body if they killed it meant leaving him more vulnerable to Heaven's wrath. They all worked tirelessly to restore Castiel's vessel and provide him that safe haven while his damaged grace regenerated.

Quietly, Sam slipped out of the room, leaving the door open, and padded down the hall to his own room. He cracked the door but such darkness in the windowless room meant he couldn't see much. His eyes squinted and made out Dean's familiar balled up lump in the center of the bed. Motionless, aside from his back's slow, steady rise and fall of breathing, he slept so deeply that light from the hall didn't bother him. Sam shut the door again and padded downstairs.

The kitchen stood silent and empty with just a ceramic mixing bowl on the counter covered by a layer of clear plastic wrap. He peered into the bowl and found a thick white cream with torn up rose petals mixed throughout. It looked pretty with red, pink, and yellow mixed into the white. It smelled good too. He wondered what was in it that could be beneficial to an angel.

"Mina?" he called out.

She didn't respond.

He left the kitchen, headed through the empty main hall. "Mina?"

Still nothing.

Sam glanced at the security monitors connected to cameras strategically placed throughout the bunker. Her grainy, black and white figure sat on the cement steps just outside the front door. A notebook spread across her lap and she wrote at a brisk pace.

He stepped outside and sat on the cement steps beside her. "What are you doing out here?"

"It gets claustrophobic in there sometimes," she replied as she wrote.

"Yeah." He reminded himself that she had been an angel. Sitting in one place so long probably drove her insane.

"Castiel okay?"

Sam nodded. "His wings are bugging him today. I gave him pain drugs."

"Did you write it down?"

"Yep."

"Good." She finished scribbling out her paragraph and slapped shut the notebook, dropping it on the ground.

"Have you thought about being a real nurse?" he asked impulsively.

Amina looked confused for a moment. "You mean working in a hospital?"

"Sure. You've already got the skill and education. You'd coast through nursing school without hardly any effort. It could be a good life for you."

"A human life..." Her voice sounded resigned to it like a prison sentence.

"Just an idea," Sam added, suddenly rather insecure with the realization that she might never be happy as a human.

"I don't know what I want," she admitted. "Sometimes I feel like I have a grip on being human, but other times, just the threat of making a wrong choice scares me into doing nothing. There are so many choices I have to face every day. Before, everything was instructed. I knew what to expect through my orders. I didn't have free will before Castiel showed me the way. Now ... just choosing what to wear this morning overwhelmed me. Nursing school would probably suit me very well but I don't know how to get from conceiving the idea to deciding it's right for me to making it happen. All the steps - it's all very overwhelming. This isn't me either. I feel weak and out of control."

"You could let me help," Sam said softly.

Her eyes rolled in a new human habit and she scoffed at him. "What, are you going to dress me every day? Pick my food? Spoon feed me cough medicine when this body betrays me and gets sick? Those are the things scaring me. All the little details."

"No, I won't do those things for you, but I can help you get used to doing those things for yourself. Like your clothes. You're overwhelmed by the number of choices, so I'd give you two outfits to choose from in the mornings. Then a few days later, I'll add a third. Then a fourth. In a month or so, you'll be able to open your own dresser or closet and grab what you want without thinking because you'll have learned to be confident in your choices." It seemed rather simple and he decided not to tell her that he guessed toddlers were taught to make choices that way too. Maybe Castiel was right. A fallen angel was like an overgrown toddler in some respects. "Same with food. I mean, it's okay if you don't like something. It's just part of figuring out who you are as an individual."

Amina thought about it. "That might work," she decided with a nod. "But you can't tell anyone. I don't think other women are having this problem."

"Lots of people have anxiety issues. That's really what this is - an anxiety problem. You'll learn to cope with it and it'll be fine. Nobody has to know but us." Sam fingered the hem of her lavender shirt with a boat neck. She paired it with the skinny jeans that were once Theresa Novak's, and her hair seemed a little more carefully brushed than yesterday. "For what it's worth, this was a good choice. It's pretty on you."

"Thank you." Flowery pink heat of shyness filled her cheeks. "Why are you so good to me, Sam?" Sincerity relaxed the faint lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes.

He let go of her shirt's hem and folded his hands, his elbows braced on his knees. "Because I care about you."

"Why do I deserve that?" The innocence of her self-deprecating question punched the thick air around them.

"Well, you're tough and fearless with your loyalty to Cas and your faith in the Virgin Mary," he said, careful of describing too deeply of how he felt about her. "You basically got disowned from your family for standing by your convictions, but instead of wallowing and giving up, you searched for Cas right away. That kind of resourcefulness and independence is not something I see in a lot of women. You're a  _lady_ too. A  _real_ lady. You're gonna be fine in the end." He paused and it slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Any man would be lucky to have you, really."

The air hung even more thickly between them and a faraway sort of thoughtfulness came over those dark blue eyes with the tiny flecks of green and gold around the pupils. The full, pouting quality of her lips quirked upward in breathy hints of smiles when she didn't actually want her feelings to show. No one else noticed those little details, he wagered. And as he peered down at her round face, seated side-by-side on the concrete steps, he wondered if this was the moment.

Rumbling in the eastern sky crackled the air and broke the spell. In a second, Amina shot to her feet and left Sam's side. The space she had occupied with him went cold immediately. He chastised himself for hesitating like he always did when he really felt something for a woman. With a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet and joined her in the grassy yard.

The blue Kansas sky blanketed the bunker, but massive storm clouds rolled across the eastern horizon. Blackness darkened the bottom layer of the storm clouds, while a greenish tint colored the top layer. The swirling, angry quality of the clouds didn't look right to Sam.

"Tornado weather maybe," he mumbled. "Is it a storm or...?"

They watched the gathering storm with linked hands in the yard. Amina's tiny hand squeezed his and he squeezed back as lightning jumped from cloud to cloud. Those bolts of electric fire never jumped to the ground. At the top of the cloud columns, the greenish glow they'd seen before illuminated the frightening scene.

"Battle..." they both whispered simultaneously.

Amina's anxiety spiked again. Her body stiffened and she turned her face toward Sam's arm, away from a heavenly battle manifesting miles away over eastern Kansas. He let go of her hand long enough to wrap his arm around her waist. They fit together in natural shapes, with Sam pointed toward the storm and Amina's cheek rubbing the side of his chest to hide from it. One of her hands fearfully dug into the arm looped around her body and the other dug into his waist.

"It's gonna be okay," Sam assured reflexively.

"The Blessed Mother has to win, Sam. We're all dead if she doesn't. God will turn vengeful. I've seen it happen before," she spoke into his chest.

"I've been in worse spots," replied Sam. "Like Dean says, if we go down, then we go down swingin'."

A gust of wind ripped through the overhead trees and swirled around them. Their clothes pulled tightly against their bodies. Their hair whipped painfully across their faces. The scent of rain clouded them suddenly, mixed with the earthy aroma of wet soil. Rolling bright white clouds approached like skirmishers ahead of an army with the terror organizing to the rear.

Amina pulled back and turned her eyes up to Sam's face. His hands combed around her ears and smoothed back her hair. The wind fought him, swinging the heavy dark length of her hair around his wrists. They should have gone inside the bunker but he couldn't tear himself away from the way she gazed up at him - so fearful, yet so unwilling to quit.

It wasn't right before. No, this,  _this_ was the moment. Sam's face lowered to hers and closed the impressive gap between their heights. Thunder rumbled closer; the crashing, violent reality of war hanging over Kansas. Lips brushed sweetly, innocently at first, Sam uncertain of whether she had ever kissed another human before him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and sparks ignited along his scalp in the wake of her touch, reaching down through his spine. His hands dropped from her face to her waist, pulling her snugly against his body by the swell of her hips. Everything about her felt so soft, so inviting, so warm.

Neither of them would know later who kissed who first. Sometimes they'd playfully argue about it, Sam imagined, but he knew the moment his lips met hers that Dean had been right from the start. Some things were worth dying for, like that one piece of happiness in this shit hole world. For Dean, it was Castiel. For Sam, it was Amina. Now they both had their angels and he committed her sweet taste to memory.

Sharper thunder interrupted their secluded moment. Sam looked eastward and saw the battle rolling closer. Instinct tightened his grip on Amina as if he could actually protect her from thousands of warring angels and soldiers from the Egyptian Underworld, soldiers from Ancient Rome, and warriors from Celtic antiquity. And somewhere up there, Bastet was a prisoner of war. It surprised him that he actually worried about the safety of a goddess. But that one repeatedly saved Dean's life. Maybe that deserved a piece of his loyalty.

His thoughts melted away as Amina stretched her hand to his temple and it trailed down his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw. "I wish I could have seen your soul before I fell," she murmured. Her eyes studied each dip, curve, and sharp corner of his face as if seeing him for the first time.

Sam leaned into her hand and closed his eyes. The thought that she may not have known about his demon blood haunted him more than he liked to admit. A fallen angel and the boy with demon blood couldn't sound any more set against each other. One day, he knew he'd have to tell her, but not that day. Supposing the war in Heaven did go bad, he wanted them both to have just one good memory to cling to in much darker hours.

In the distance, the faintest whine of sirens blared. It hadn't yet begun to rain at the bunker but the sickeningly greenish color in the swirling clouds and the thick air felt prime for tornado weather.

"Must be an ugly battle," he surmised. "It's spawning tornadoes. The first battle didn't seem that bad."

"There are certainly storms manifesting all over the planet. The experts won't understand it. They'll call it global warming." She fought the sorrow and uncertainty in her observations.

"At least we live in a bunker. It's safer than a house," he replied. "We should warn Dean and make sure Cas is okay."

She grabbed his hand just as he started for the bunker. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Amina trotted across the grass between them and latched a hand around the back of his neck. She yanked him down to her height for another kiss, her full lips rather inexperienced but feeling her way through it like she did everything else.

"Just in case the sky falls on our heads," she whispered against his lips.

Rain spit and splattered into a steady downpour over their home. The battles for Mary's throne raged above them, giving no indication of when the war might end.


	14. Attack of the Killer Tornadoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All seems to be going well with Castiel's recovery from being tortured in Heaven, until the flashbacks hit. Amina and Dean have to find a way to keep his sanity in tact. Sam suggests doing research on post-traumatic stress even though Castiel isn't technically human. And as Sam struggles to find his place in the shifting family dynamics, he takes a job with the town of Lebanon cleaning up tornado damage, and then later, building a new church. He wants to provide for Amina and the rest of the family while they're holed up in the bunker. But will Amina still want him after all of the bad things he's done under the influence of demon blood? Meanwhile, Bastet returns with enlightening news about the Virgin Mary's war in Heaven. A new battle begins, making more freak storms erupt over Kansas. Suddenly, Dean finds himself the latest casualty in the war. Is there a price on his head?

That fucking tornado was lucky it didn't throw the tree into the Impala. Dean stalked a wide circle around his baby's empty parking spot parallel with a tree ripped from the ground at the roots. A giant swath of torn ground led from the hole where it stood for hundreds of years to his car's spot, as if the tree had been thrown on purpose.

With Sam in Lebanon on his job interview, Dean alone dragged broken branches and debris to a growing pile to the side of the yard. He wore the heavy duty gloves from his construction days but that didn't help the strain on his back. Sweat beaded across his forehead and darkened his shirt around his neck.

Yesterday's tornado brought a heat wave behind it.  He knew the freak storms exploding all over Colorado, Kansas, and Missouri that week were the result of battles in Heaven. Seven tornadoes touched down in Kansas yesterday alone, and the weather analysts on the news didn't know what to make of it. Dean, Sam, Amina, and Cas knew, but there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it, except wait. As long as humans weren't getting killed in the crossfire, they all agreed to simply hole up in the bunker and wait. So far, it came across as a miracle to the local reporters that no one had been killed in the recent freak storms.

But as Dean dragged away debris from around his baby's parking spot, he wondered if that tornado hadn't been an attempt to eliminate him. Surely everyone fighting the war in Heaven knew the deal. Mary needed the blood of a faithful man, the Righteous Man, to work the spell that would transform her from angel to goddess. Dean expected there was a price on his head because of it. It made his abomination of a relationship with Castiel seem like child's play. And since the tornado, he walked around with a permanent angel blade in his back pocket.

"Dean!" Amina's desperate yelling from the bunker doorway pricked his spine. " _Dean_! It’s Castiel!"

He hadn't ever heard her voice turn that high, so full of tension, and although he couldn't see her expression from that distance, he knew something went wrong. Dropping a load of debris off his shoulder, the hunter ran. He ran so hard that his legs burned. The pounding of his heart roared as he shoved past Amina and bolted for the stairs. Castiel's voice flowed like an angry river through their home from the bedroom.

"He's having a flashback," reported Amina, hot on his heels.

A chilling sight greeted Dean with the battered angel spread across the bed, his arms stretched outward from his body. Mutilated, broken wings stretched in raven black columns beneath his arms. Lamps shattered and bedside items flung on the floor as his massive wings struggled to fully unfurl in the room. His body twisted and contorted painfully on the bed as if those upper extremities were bound by force. A bellowing cry of pain poured from Castiel's mouth. Old gashes reopened around his eyes as his mental agony squeezed them shut.

"Cas," Dean attempted tenderly at first. A knee squared his balance on the bed with the other foot firmly planted on the floor. “Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, Cas." Hands around his jaw attempted to turn his face and get his attention.

Castiel shouted something in Enochian but Dean only caught a couple of words. His fluency faded since he hadn't received any further branding marks of grace. He doubted he could smite an ant anymore.

"Listen to me, Cas. You're in Kansas, not Heaven." Dean's voice edged on loud firmness. " _Look at my eyes_! You know me. I'm not one of those dicks with wings.  C'mon, babe, what's my name?"

Violent thrashing ripped out his IV before Dean could catch his arm. He bled a spotty streak over the new white sheets. Not a second allowed the fear Dean felt for Castiel's sanity as he pinned his wrists down just to keep him from hurting himself. For a moment, the struggle calmed enough to take hold of Castiel's face once more. If the evil memories fought for control, then Dean intended to fight back with memories of his own, _goddamn it_.

Dean lowered his face alongside Castiel's ear and his tone shifted to private endearments. “Remember that time last year when we rode in Baby together. Sammy wasn't with us, so you got shotgun and you couldn't stop that smile. I rolled down the windows because it was so fuckin' hot, and you liked popping your hand out to feel the wind rushing by. Remember, Cas? Zeppelin came on the radio. You know me. I always sing with Zeppelin, and you said you liked to hear my voice. That was the day you reached over the seat and held my hand. Neither of us talked about it then or any other day, but I should've told you, Cas. I should've told you it felt so damn good. You remember the song?"

Feeling Castiel's body lose much of its tension, he stroked a bruised cheek under his thumb, but no real recognition returned. Dean refused to give the torture a chance to resurface. No longer caring that Amina stood nervously in the doorway and heard everything, a slower version of the song playing on the radio that day poured like honey from his mouth. "Catch the wind, see us spin, sail away, leave today, way up high in the sky. But the wind won't blow, you really shouldn't go, it only goes to show that you will be mine, by takin' our time." Fingers gently slipped through the angels dark hair. “C'mon, Cas. Come back to me."

A veil of forced separation lifted from Castiel's visage. He blinked as if waking from a drugged coma. “Dean," he whispered, blinking again, “it's you. I don't…."

"You're okay." An audible sigh of relief soothed his own body.

Castiel groped his bloody forearm and winced. “What did I do, Dean?"

"You just had a bad dream." He hoped that was enough.

"I don't sleep. I couldn't have had a bad dream."

Amina approached the bed opposite Dean and wound up the ruined IV tubing. She sat beside Castiel. “You had flashbacks, but Dean pulled you out of it." Her eyes cast a reassuring glance at the hunter and then back to her brother. “Everything's okay now."

The realization darkened Castiel's eyes. “Yes, I remember now," he whispered. “I hit you, Dean. I’m sorry. I thought you were one of them."

"You're gonna have to do better than that to knock me off my feet," Dean said in an attempt at humor. He sandwiched one of Castiel's hands between his own and gently rubbed. “Just breathe slow and calm down. We got you. Your mind might try to make you think you’re being hurt again but I'm not gonna let it last long. I'll be here to yank you out of it. As long as it takes. You'd do the same for Sammy and me."

"And me," Amina added, firmly nodding in agreement.

Castiel nodded but Dean knew he felt shame in his weaknesses. They'd been warned those things could happen, along with the development of strange phobias. He knew how to pull the angel out of it now though, and swore they were going to kick it in the ass. Those dicks wouldn't damage Castiel forever. Not as long as Dean was still around.

"Let me start your IV again?" Ever the nurse, Amina affectionately patted his wrist. “I'll have to do it in the other arm this time."

Castiel ignored both Dean and Amina, who exchanged concerned glances as the injured angel struggled to sit upright in bed on his own. Silently, he examined his broken legs bound up in homemade splints with cotton padding, the tree branches for support, and tight ace wraps holding it all together. Castiel touched the splints, which stretched from his feet up past his knees. There was no way he could stand if he tried.

"It's the most peculiar thing," he said, almost in awe.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked when he didn't elaborate.

Darkened blue eyes narrowed in concentration. Even his mouth thinned out as if it might help him with the goal. His thumb rubbed his two forefingers and then he tapped one of his legs halfway between his knee and ankle. The hand lifted away, suspended and expectant, but nothing happened that Dean or Amina saw.

"I see the damage in my vessel as I always did," explained the angel without tearing his eyes from his legs. “The tibias are broken here and here." His hands formed diagonal angles on each leg to demonstrate what he saw. “Soft tissues are inflamed. I should be able to heal myself but I can't. It's like…" Castiel stared at his fingers as if they weren't even part of him anymore. “It's like a short in an electrical circuit. My grace is present. I can feel it." Hands splayed over his bare chest interrupted by occasional bandages. “It's there but it’s not functioning correctly."

Dean thought maybe he began to absorb the reality of his condition, but they couldn't let him freak out about it. He placed a comforting hand on Castiel's arm. “You just need time to reset your circuits, you know? It's gonna be fine."

He nodded, somewhat dazed. “I know my superiors were trying to reprogram me." Slowly, he leaned over into his hands and rubbed his face with the strain of the memory. “I fought it all. I forced myself to hold onto the good I've tried to do, to hold onto my faith in Mother Mary, and … and you." Watery eyes peered out from his hands at Dean.

"And it didn't take. They didn't reprogram you. Your grace was damaged but you know that already. It's just wounded, like your vessel. Give yourself time to recover. It won't be overnight and that's okay, brother," said Amina like any devoted sister would in any corner of humanity.

"Exactly," Dean agreed. He shrugged and half-smiled. “It's gonna be awesome having you here for a while. Sammy's taking a construction job, you know, so we're not going anywhere. You better get used to this being home. We've got this room, Sammy's got his room, and Amina has her room, like a real goddamn family. It's pretty great, all except you being hurt like this, but it's just temporary."

"Dean, I can't be a burden to you. If something happens but you're distracted by me—"

"—Just shut up, okay? Even if you could Houdini yourself out of here, I'd sure as hell be more distracted wondering where you went, if you're hurt again, or…." The words tangled in his throat. "…or dead. No. Put that burden shit out of your head. You're not going anywhere."

An odd sort of emotional expression grabbed Castiel's face, making him appear much more human than he had before Heaven took him. He reached for Dean and the two shared their first real embrace since the abduction. He knew as soon as Castiel's arms weakly hung around him that even a day without physical contact felt entirely too long. The angel slumped over his shoulder as if too stubborn to admit his vessel's exhaustion but he allowed Dean to feel it. Carefully, his feet stood on the floor and he tilted Castiel back into his pillows. He kissed those battered lips, surprised by how little he cared that Amina saw his gentler nature.

"Let her start the new IV, okay?" he tried it again.

Castiel nodded and gave Amina a faint approving smile.

"You want a coffee?" Dean asked, rewarding his compliance. “Too much cream. Too much sugar. Right?"

"Yes. Thank you, Dean." The angel did appear tired.

Before he left Amina to do her nursing work, he kissed his love again just because he could now. Better days had to come for them.

it wasn't until Dean got to the kitchen that the wave of exhaustion hit him too. He braced his hands on the counter and closed his eyes, trying to think of anything that might keep Castiel from slipping back into those flashbacks. The first thing he intended to do was move his sleeping bag from Sam's room to their room. It didn't seem like a good idea to let the angel spend nights alone anymore now that he seemed more alert for longer periods. If another flashback hit him, someone had to be there.

Deep in thought, the hunter emptied the old coffee into the sink and rinsed out the glass pot. He didn't hear Sam come barreling through the front door until his little brother plowed through the kitchen straight to the refrigerator.

"Hey, man," he greeted as he grabbed a bottle of water and a plastic cup of yogurt. “So get this. The tornado cut through Lebanon, which means this construction crew has a lot more work than just building the church. I got the job, by the way. It’s probably my size. They didn't really ask me about any special skills or anything. I'm on the town cleanup crew for now. Three grand a month and then it bumps up to five when we start building the church. Say we're here six months - that's like twenty-six thousand." He shoveled yogurt in his mouth as he babbled. “Right now we're working four days a week. It'll pick up later, I guess."

"That's great, man. The money'll be a big help," replied Dean as he dumped scoops of coffee into the filter and snapped it shut.

"Thanks. Where's Mina? I wanna tell her the news."

"She's putting a new IV in Cas," Dean said darkly. “Give them a little bit."

The spoonful of yogurt stopped in mid air. “Why'd a need a new IV?"

"Because he started having torture flashbacks today. It got a little hairy and he ripped it out." Talking about it wounded Dean but he did his best to bury it or shake it off, whichever came first.

"Oh, shit," Sam breathed, his excitement sobering immediately. He fell quiet as he finished his yogurt, and then continued, “I'll start doing research on post-traumatic stress tonight. I mean, he's not human but that's the closest thing I can think of, so maybe I can find something that'll help him."

Dean nodded and leaned his back against the counter, arms folded over his chest. “Thanks, Sammy. And I'm glad you got your job. I'm just … you know."

"I know," reassured the younger brother. “He'll be okay."

Logically, Dean knew that too, but he never expected seeing Castiel suffer would make _him_ suffer so much in the process. At times he felt like he walked through the angel's pain with him as if they shared the same body. But he didn't want to think about that anymore. He just wanted a break for a moment.

"So," Dean began with a smile, “I see Amina's a little distracted today. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

A smirk grabbed hold of Sam but disappeared immediately. Dean knew right then and there that he embarrassed his brother. And an embarrassed Sam meant he finally did something about his attraction to the girl. Laughing through a teasing smile, Dean knew he had his little brother cornered. Those opportunities were so rare since Sam generally kept quiet about his conquests. The guy lived too old-fashioned for his own good.

"All right, talk. How was it?" Dean probed, smirking so hard.

"Dean…"  Consternation rolled Sam's eyes as he hopped onto the counter and leaned on his hands.

The older brother chortled. “She's completely gone over you. I said your name once today and she grinned like she won the friggin lottery. It's so cute, I'm gonna puke."

And Sam grinned too. Yep, Dean was definitely ready to barf.

"At least the whole will they or won't they drama's over. Never seen a dude take as long as you to seal the deal."

"Dean, c'mon," Sam groaned, irritated.

"She a virgin?" He thoroughly enjoyed the teasing.

"Dean!"

"You know, some of those angels are pretty dirty."

Sam’s bitchy face shifted to something much shyer. “I didn't … We didn't … I mean, we haven't—"

"—Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." Dean shook his head and spun around to pour four cups of coffee. “What's the hold up?"

"I'm taking it slow. She's been through a lot. What's wrong with showing her some respect?" Something else appeared to bother him underneath Dean's relentless teasing. “I kissed her yesterday, and then she kissed me again a little while later. I guess she likes me but I don't know what to do now. I mean, she was an _angel_ , Dean. Who knows how old she is? What the hell would she want with me?"

Dean's face tilted. “You forget who you’re talking to here? Cas and I aren't just playing house."

"I know," he replied.

"You're a good guy, Sammy. There's nothing fake or pretentious about you. Of course she likes you. Both of you have that kind of purity. She wouldn't have let you kiss her if she didn't want you, and she sure as hell wouldn't have kissed you back." He paused and searched his brother's face. “I know you take a long time to warm up to girls but there's something off about this, Sammy. Tell me what’s really going on. I don't wanna see you mess this up because you're keeping secrets."

The younger Winchester shifted on the counter and shoved his long hair behind his ears. “What if she doesn't know about my demon blood? We all thought Cas and Meg were weird together. Is it really fair of me to let a former angel get any deeper when I'm … part demon?"

"Okay," Dean began, pushing aside the irritation and jealousy stabbing him in the gut with the mention of Meg's name, “first of all, there's a big difference between you two and those two. You're not really a demon and Amina's not really an angel. Both of you are just people now. You're also not a manipulative sack of douchebaggery like Meg."

"But being part demon makes me capable of disturbing manipulation and really hurting people I love." Sam's hazel eyes avoided looking at his brother. “Remember all the demon blood I did with Ruby."

Dean conceded to that truth with a shrug. “So what? You're an ex-junkie. And I drank too much. Cas is still here, isn't he? A lot of ex-junkies go on to get married and pop out babies and all that shit. You can't punish yourself forever, Sammy. All the good you do is a hell of a lot more important than the bad. If you're gonna use Amina as another way to punish yourself, you're gonna end up punishing her too. She hasn't done anything to deserve that." He drew closer and planted his hands on the counter, forcing Sam to hold his eye contact. “Trust me, Sammy. This girl's good for you. I haven't seen you try to be cool or whatever with her. You're easy together. You don't want to throw that away. Tell her the truth and get it over with. It'll be fine."

His impossibly huge chest heaved a sigh of resignation. “Okay. I'll try."

"Good. Get laid already." The smile returned to Dean's face as he handed two of the coffee cups to his brother. “Take these up. This one's yours. This one's your woman's." He carried one for himself - black - and another for Castiel - a light brown, creamy, sugary mess.

The Winchester brothers passed into the main hall and the room off to the side on the way to the stairs.

"Hey, what do you think about getting Cas a TV?"

"Sure," Sam replied. “Just lemme look into post-traumatic stress first."

Fuzzy black and white monitors glowed in a darkened corner. Dean made a habit of glancing at them for anything unusual every time he passed by, but he never saw anything. Until then. His shoes squeaked on the floor as he stopped without a breath of warning, and Sam almost walked directly into his back.

"What gives?" Sam bitched.

Dean squinted at the black smudge on the bottom center monitor connected to the camera that pointed to the bunker's entrance. He couldn't make out the shape and thought maybe he'd forgotten some tornado debris. The black smudge moved, though, almost like liquid and Dean put the coffee down on a nearby table to get a closer look. The eyes reflected like mirrors off the camera. Pointed ears sharpened into focus, and like being hit by a truck, the image registered in Dean's mind.

"Bastet!" The hunter shoved Sam away and bolted for the door.

Two more coffee cups were abandoned on the table as Sam ran ahead of his brother until Dean grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait, wait," he whispered, pulling the angel blade from his back pocket.

Sam's posture shifted, ready for a fight, and he slowly opened the door. It struck Dean as particularly weird that one of Heaven's prisoners of war just magically showed up on his doorstep. Bastet trotted into the bunker as if she lived there and rubbed herself around Dean's ankles with long, grateful meows. He stared down at her with the angel blade gripped in his fist as if the angels used her as bait to get into the bunker. Sam slammed the door shut, clearly anticipating the same possibility. He looked to Dean for guidance. Some things never changed.

The cat pranced to the middle of the room in elongated black strides, slowly growing and morphing into the graceful Egyptian woman with each step. She stretched her arms high over her head and bent to each side as if she had been confined for too long. She traipsed down the steps to the main hall, spinning and pushing herself up on the table. Her long legs crossed right over left. Golden cat eyes sparkled and her long feline teeth showed through her smile.

"My dear boy," she said. “You're looking well."

"How did you get here?" Dean didn't quite feel ready to put away the angel blade yet.

"It got bloody yesterday. The entire war is getting rather bloody, actually. God's betting Mary will simply wear down and give in, but she's not quitting. He's throwing tantrums, as you might say. God's prisoners weren't guarded well during the worst of the last battle, so Brigid's men finally reached us." Bastet's spine curved in another feline stretch. “No one was spared to escort me here. I was dropped in the prairie twenty miles from this place."

"Are you … okay?" Sam asked hesitantly and shrugged at Dean.

"You mean am I injured? No. I'm a goddess. Virtually nothing hurts me." She turned her attention back to Dean with a sharp eye on the chain around his wrist. “I see you didn't give up on me once you got your angel back. That's certainly gratifying."

Dean glanced at his wrist. “You saved our lives up there."

"You grew on me," she replied nonchalantly. “Is your angel alive?"

He nodded and, realizing he still gripped the angel blade, crammed it in his back pocket again.

"Good. Then it wasn't in vain. Mary cannot feel him or any of her other angels at the moment. One of God's strategies has apparently been to cut off the bond between mother and children. He can't win the way He pleases, so He's fighting dirty. I've been instructed to alert Mary's handmaidens to Castiel's whereabouts as soon as it's safe. I'm also instructed to speak to you, Dean, about the war."

"I'm gonna get Mina," Sam said in a lower tone. “She should hear this."

"The fallen angel? Yes, bring her," agreed Bastet.

Sam disappeared upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Left alone with the goddess, Dean ambled across the room and leaned against the table beside her. Affection overtook his mannerisms as he ran a hand down her shiny black hair. It wasn't sexual in the slightest. On the contrary, he felt somewhat responsible for her, almost the way someone felt when they owned a pet. That felt wrong though. It felt cheap. She was so much more powerful than him, so much older than him, and yet the affection he experienced seemed real enough.

"It's the spell," she said, apparently reading his thoughts. The faint smile plumped her lips. "Remember? Isis bonded us for your protection. Don't panic. I haven't bewitched you or anything of that nature."

Dean snapped his fingers. "Right. The spell." He nodded and felt better about it. "I'm still, you know, thankful that you saved us. Spell or no spell."

"It's a nice change to be part of a sincere love story for once."

As Sam and Amina came downstairs, Dean shifted a bit further away from his cat-goddess. Poor Amina had been afraid of Bastet before, he remembered, and she didn't look any happier about it now. She kept herself partially hidden behind the wall of Sam's body and peered suspiciously at Bastet, not that Dean blamed her. She looked neither human nor feline, which would scare any normal person.

Dean met eyes with her. "Cas?"

"Garden," she replied.

"Good. Okay, so, happy family reunion," said Dean with a turn toward the sarcastic. He focused on Bastet. "So start talking. What's going on up there?"

"The war isn't gaining ground one way or the other yet. It looks to be a much longer war than God or Mary anticipated. They are, as they say, evenly matched."

A bitter sort of laugh from Dean interrupted her. "Isn't that how it usually goes? I'm no expert or anything but most divorces end up messier than anyone expected. It's all very sad until the innocent like Cas and Amina get caught in the middle. Now she's a human and he's fighting for his life. Thousands of angels are being forced to choose sides. Do either of them even care what the fuck their children are going through?"

Bastet's eyes pierced through his and he felt her telling him to hush. He felt it in his gut. "Mary cares," she said. "It torments her that God cut her off from her children. It's the worst thing a mother could endure. But she has to stay the course. She has to win the war or all of the beings in the universe who aided her will be destroyed. You. Me. Your lover." Her eyes slid to Sam and Amina. "Your brother and his lover too. We're all on the hit list if Mary's defeated."

"This isn't news to me. I know all I've risked. So does my mother." Amina folded her arms around her middle. Though her words sounded tough, Dean sensed fear in her posture.

Bastet ignored her. "The handmaidens are coming soon. I don't know when but I've been instructed to alert all of you that they are coming and you must watch for them. They have to be invited in here. This place is protected an no angel or demon can get access without invitation."

"Hold on," Sam interrupted with an outstretched hand. "Handmaidens? What exactly are those?"

"A handmaiden to a goddess is what a lady-in-waiting is to a queen. They serve her and are her closest companions." Bastet lounged back on her hands against the table. "Mary will judge the right moment. She needs help gathering an element for the spell to turn her from angel to goddess. One of the elements, aside from the blood of the Righteous Man, is here on Earth."

"What element?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. I wasn't told any more than I've told you here. I wish I could help you more, Dean." Wrinkles between her eyes formed, suggesting real concern for them. "I do know that Mary's beside herself with worry for her angels. There are rumors that God intends to begin extracting their graces to weaken her forces - the ones loyal to her. We're talking about thousands of them. Possibly millions. And if God wins, they'll be smited. Castiel most certainly is at the top of that list. Mary has made no secret that he's her favorite child." She peered at Amina. "You as well. For your ability to love humanity as Castiel does. For your loyalty. For your dignity in your exile. She pulls you to her bosom, dear heart. But that also means you'll die alongside Castiel if Mary doesn't win."

Breathing evenly, Amina balled her fists in a clear attempt to control her trembles. She blinked back tears. "But," she said in a valiant effort to remain steady, "my grace was already destroyed. It's done. They could try to get my brother but I'll kill them first."

"No, my dear. They've stolen your grace but it's not destroyed. It exists still."

"What?" Amina's face drained and she leaned on a chair as if her legs might give way.

Instinctively, Sam held her around the waist and supported her weight against his body. She looked up at him, eyes fearfully wide with shock, and her fists balled his shirt. Openly, they clung to each other and Dean looked away from the intensely raw, private moment between fledgling lovers.

"Don't you understand, Dean? Don't all of you understand? Mary is fighting for all of us and all of her angels. She's fighting for the freedom to choose personal destiny. Do you know God's the only deity that demands blind obedience? All other deities acquire their faithful numbers by choice. Mary cannot abide by angelic slavery anymore and that's precisely what it is - slavery. These are principles that you fought to preserve during the apocalypse. If she loses this war, there's so much more at steak than her throne. It's the freedom of her children. If she fails, angels will never have a chance at free will. She loves her children and she loves humanity." Bastet made eye contact with all of them to drive her point home. "Part of what I'm asked to bring to you is the reminder of holding onto your faith. All of you. She has never forced it on you and never will. It's all personal choice. But be reminded that your faith gives her strength."

The three of them stared at each other, searching for any sign of decision one way or the other. Of course, it was easiest for Amina to nod in agreement first. She was, after all, Mary's actual child. Dean and Sam were little better than redheaded stepchildren. Free will had been one of the things that brought Castiel to Dean. Undoing all of that meant watching him dissolve into a blindly obedient soldier again. Slavery. It was quite true. And no one knew how many innocent human lives would be lost once God's vengeance took hold.

"Free will is the one thing worth fighting for," Dean said, paraphrasing the private words his angel had once spoken to him.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, rubbing Amina's back in support.

Stoically, Bastet nodded. "Then you must be prepared for the handmaidens to come. When you are called upon for service, you must give Mary what she needs at all costs. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Amina said softly.

"We will," Sam promised.

Dean merely gave a short affirmative jerk of the chin. He'd given so many verbal promises of faith already and he was doing the best he could. If she didn't follow through with her platform of free will for her angels, he feared the sense of loss and betrayal might actually destroy him this time. He fought for Castiel's principles and understood that they were his own as well. If she actually won the war, part of him felt perfectly willing to hand over his faith.

More than that, for Sam and Amina's sake, Mary needed to succeed. His brother already lost so many companions and Dean didn't know if he could survive losing another.

Outside, Dean heard the faint howl of a siren screaming a warning throughout the Kansas countryside. Amina heard it too and she pried herself away from Sam to investigate.

"What's going on?" her innocent words cut the room.

She opened the door before they could stop her, a blast of wind nearly throwing her backwards. Greenish black clouds swirled overhead and rain pelted the fallen angel as she fought to stay upright. A freight train engine roared, yet Dean vaguely remembered there were no trains in their area.

"It's happening again," Bastet murmured as she slid off the table.

"Shit," Dean spat over the howling wind. "I just finished cleaning up after the last battle!"

The hunter stalked to the door against the sharp gusts and threw Amina by her waist toward Sam, away from the danger. His brother protectively gathered her up in his arms but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the twisting rope undulating from the sky in the distance. Dean grabbed the door and pushed with his entire body weight. Slowly, it moved toward the latch but his arms burned and shook with the strength it required.

"Move away!" screeched Bastet. "Dean! Don't--"

An abrupt collision smashed into the doorway, knocking him senseless. He stumbled back, the sting of ripped flash along his forearms.

"Dean!" shouted his brother as he rushed to grab the door.

Blood dripped from Dean's forearms and he peeked through Sam's legs from the floor. One of the massive chunks of tree blew from his neat pile in the yard directly against the front door. And it happened the moment he pushed Amina away to try and shut the door himself. She knelt by his side, hair blowing in an unruly cloud around her head, and examined the scratches up and down his arms. He looked down at himself, realizing his shirt had been shredded and his chest bled as well.

"Are they trying to kill me?" he barked angrily over the storm.

Finally, Sam managed to slam the door shut. Relative silence engulfed the bunker once more, though the battle raged in Heaven and ripped apart the earth below.

Bastet peered down at him on the floor. "Yes, they are. God is offering a reward for your heart on a platter."

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, clutching his bloody chest.


	15. Guard This With Your Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rocky road in Castiel's recovery from being tortured in Heaven takes on a terrible new set of symptoms just as Dean begins seeing progress elsewhere. Emotional trauma has pushed the angel into thinking it would be better to die than face Heaven again, despite the Virgin Mary's war raging for angelic freedom. Meanwhile, Sam and Amina are working on defining their fledgling relationship. He tries repeatedly to broach the subject of his old demon blood addiction but she's too interested in other things. Then the family of misfits is suddenly visited by Batina, Sorina, and Claudia - personal handmaidens to the Virgin Mary. They arrive with instructions to hide 147 vials of grace, including Amina's, before God destroys them out of vengeance for the widespread rebellion. And they inform Sam and Dean that they're going on a hunt by the end of the week. Will Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Amina agree to keep helping the Virgin Mary in her war to become a goddess and secure angelic freedom?

"I dunno how the rest of your body feels today, but your wings are starting to look better," Dean commented.

The magazine drooped in Castiel's hands. He peered over the length of his right wing with detached interest. Dean had propped his feet on the bedside table and sat in a chair, using his own legs as a makeshift table. Deliberate fingers rubbed Amina's salve into the wounds. The scent of roses hung thickly in the air. His salve contained enough rose petals and rose oil to bathe a few prostitutes. Far be it from Dean to question the medicinal properties of the creamy white angel rub as long as the stuff worked.

Carefully, Dean dabbed a glob of it over one of the worst wounds. Castiel's wing recoiled and he sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth. The flesh still looked angry, red, and swollen, but other areas seemed to sprout a fine, downy layer of baby black feathers.

"Sorry. That hurts?" He pulled back his gooey hand and eyed the angel.

"Just that part." Castiel never liked to look at it. He lifted his magazine like a shield. “I managed to heal a bone in my other wing this morning."

He said that so casually and yet Dean gaped at him. “You healed a broken bone? It's only been a week since Bastet escaped. She thought your grace would need more time to regenerate."

Without looking up from his magazine, his left wing flapped a couple of times to demonstrate, hitting the wall like a bird too close to a window. He then folded his wing parallel to his body and it draped over the end of the bed. Splotches of raw flesh still dotted that wing too, but at least he could flap it without unbearable pain again.

"Son of a bitch. Awesome." Dean grinned broadly.

It didn't impress Castiel much, certainly because he wanted to heal his entire vessel immediately, not just one bone. He flipped the magazine page and his brow furrowed. “Why is Amina reading magazines with extensive analysis on human mating rituals?"

"Uh…" Immediately, Dean regretted dumping her stack of magazines on the bed for his entertainment.

The angel's blue eyes lifted from the magazine to his face. “Dean?"

"Don't you hear everything in the bunker? You know," he used air quotes, “I’m a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent."

A faint smile hinted at Castiel's amusement. “Yes, but I blocked out all unnecessary noise as soon as I could. Noise hurts my grace right now."

As Dean finished rubbing the salve on Castiel's wounds, he carefully slid the wing off his lap and, standing, laid it along the bed. "Makes sense. Okay, let the goo marinate for a while. Don't move. About the magazines. Most chicks read _Cosmo_ , but I guess you should know Amina likes Sammy and he likes her."

"Do you mean… the way we are?" Castiel's head tilted.

"Yeah. I mean, he says he's taking it really slow, but I think it's like us. Don't worry. I'm keeping an eye on the kids." He chuckled at his own joke. “Not to get all chick flick, but I'm pretty sure it was love at first sight for Sammy. It's been so cute, I wanna puke. I guess I had it coming with all the kissing and touching we did in front of him before you got hurt."

Castiel appeared to turn the matter over in his mind. “Sam is a good man," he said eventually. “I worry though. You say her grace was not destroyed after all. it could be restored. Amorous inclinations toward Sam might make her hesitate about her rightful place as an angel."

"Maybe," Dean conceded, “but isn't that what the war's about? The free will to make your own destiny?"

"It is, yes. I can't help wanting to spare her the pain of … of my own conflict," he replied, the words bearing a vague confession.

Something about that phrase dropped the pit of Dean's stomach and he didn't know how to respond. He moved from the chair to the bed, always mindful not to sit on an injured wing. Castiel stared at his own reflection in a mirror hung over the dresser as Dean, concerned, softly touched his cheek. Bruises faded, swelling decreased, and, nearly two weeks into his recovery, his face looked more like himself again.

"What are you talking about?" Dean murmured.

Wordlessly, fingers fumbled with buttons. He watched in bewilderment as Castiel opened his shirt and exposed the week-old wounds created in a freak storm by the tree branch slamming into him. The healing defensive scratches on Castiel's hand met the tree scratches on Dean's chest in surprising tenderness. He lightly traced several thin red lines and then flattened his palm against the worst of it.

Dean grasped his wrist and pulled the hand away. “Don't try to heal me. I know what you're doing. I felt the tingle."

"It's what I do," Castiel whispered.

"I know. I'm okay though." Dean sandwiched his hand, kissing it. “You healed a bone but you're not a hundred percent yet. It's like when I pull a muscle and I start feeling better, so I run around like an idiot, and re-injure the damn thing. Don't rush it. You don't have to fix everything."

The corner of his mouth lifted. Light shifted in his eyes like a sunburst peeking through storm clouds. “How long has it been?" he whispered.

"Since what?"

"Since…" Castiel's thumb traced the width of Dean’s lips.

"Oh," he replied, smirking, “I guess you've been here about two weeks. You were gone four days, I think. So we're going on three weeks."

"Three weeks," Castiel repeated. “That used to be nothing but a blink to me. A millisecond. Now … I miss you, Dean. I miss how we feel together."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too.We didn't get much time in the first place. But when you can tolerate me again, it's gonna be…" His words faded into a smile, letting Castiel imagine what he pleased. Breath hitched in his throat with his own fleeting thoughts.

"Mmh," Castiel hummed a short, pleasureful acknowledgement with his eyes closed for a moment. “I’m afraid - what’s the phrase - you've created a monster. I think of it here sometimes - for once, something good."

A low chuckle rolled through Dean’s chest. "You're getting better. It won't be long."

"My sense of time is changing," he whispered, eyes flashing open on the hunter again. “I feel it pressing on me."

"Why?"

Castiel's kissed their entwined hands, letting the question hang.

"Cas, talk to me."

"I'm considering falling." His countenance darkened with the admission.

"Falling…" Dean’s throat went dry.

"Falling from Heaven. Giving up my grace. Becoming a human man." He looked Dean in the eye, finally, and he let out a breath as if the confession lifted weight from his chest. “I haven't decided yet. But I … I know I'm a poor excuse for an angel."

"I've heard you say that before but I don't buy it."

"I am. I thought myself important enough to teach them, but teaching them free will is like teaching poetry to fish. Now my brothers and sisters are dying in Heaven, again, because of me, while I lie here in bed. I'm torn, Dean. Freedom is worth dying for in my eyes but half of them don't even realize they're an enslaved species." He closed his eyes and spoke from a place far away from that bunker. His voice hollowed. “The ones who obey blindly did unspeakable things to me and others in the name of purifying us of emotions and ideas. I've been carved, my vessel's flesh peeled, bones broken, my grace scraped raw, mutilated, and burned. How can I ever go home after that?"

"Cas… I…" The truth was, it left Dean speechless. That kind of decision seemed way above his pay grade.

"Amina seems happier as a human than she ever was as an angel. We talked last night about how the war truly comes down to angels being slaves to God. It’s true, Dean. We never knew it until you showed me freedom." Moisture filled his eyes, the watery sort of diluted blood tears he’d shed once or twice before. His face tightened in fear. “We are slaves. Do you know what Amina said to me? She would rather die than go back to that sort of enslavement now that she's tasted freedom. And I understood what she meant. If Mother Mary fails…"

And there it flowed - everything Castiel had swallowed back and buried under a cool, stoic reserve. A physiological rejection of all the memories he kept secret burst from his inner core. His chest heaved as if his body purged itself of trauma.

"We're gonna do whatever it takes to help her win," Dean promised.

Castiel shook his head. Eyes shut and errant tears spilled down his cheeks. “I can't go back. I'm afraid I'll be purified again. You don't know what they did to me. I don't know if I can ever tell you, Dean. I won't go back. I'll kill myself first." A trembling hand withdrew an angel blade from under his pillow and showed the sharp, silver length to Dean.

"Where'd you get that?" Dean didn't recognize the quick dryness in his own voice. The sound of raw fear.

"You," replied Castiel in a breath of emptiness. “Your pocket as you slept here last night."

The angel didn't fight him as he snatched the blade. He didn't believe Castiel truly wanted to die, but the fragility of the war made his emotional state all the more fragile in proportion.  Pinkish wet streaks lined his cheeks and his hands latched a death grip on the two halves of Dean's opened shirt. Dean remembered the printouts Sam had given him about post-traumatic stress, the paragraphs outlining the frequent panic attacks and reliving old trauma.

Castiel's breath came in loud, abrupt gasps. Large eyes painted a painful picture of suffocation. Dean had no idea how it happened. Some aspect of their conversation triggered the fear of torture and … and enslavement, for fuck's sake. Even Dean, who had never been a great fan of Heaven, never witnessed the ramifications of denying any creature its freedom, human or not. The damage might never fully heal and that frightened _him_ more than anything.

"You're safe here. Slow down your breathing. Look at me." Dean's hands framed the angel’s face. “C'mon, breathe with me."

The angel couldn't obey verbal commands and Dean remembered the post-traumatic stress printout had indicated that might happen. He looped his arms around Castiel and pulled them flush against each other. Arms shook violently, fingers clawed into his shoulder and his ribs as if consumed by the irrational fear of being dragged back to Heaven.

Softly, calmly, Dean spoke against his ear. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You feel that? My heartbeat?"

"Y-y-yes," he stuttered.

"Okay, close your eyes. Concentrate on that," he encouraged.

Time passed wordlessly, only the sound of Castiel's erratic breathing broken by occasional whimpers of fear filling the room. He felt Castiel hide his face in his neck, which unconsciously brought his hand to the back of his coarse, dark hair.

"Copy my breathing," he whispered. “Do it with me. Ready? Slow… slow… in… out…"

The angel obeyed, though it didn't flow well for quite some time. His vessel fought him, or was it his true form in there fighting his vessel?

"It hurts," Castiel mumbled. “I can't. It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"My grace. It burns. It burns constantly since purification. I can't bear it anymore." His inhuman strength squeezed Dean around the shoulders and ribs so hard that it hurt.

"Okay. If it burns, let's think about ice. Winter. Snow." Dean realized Castiel's vessel felt warmer than normal but he kept it to himself. “Swimming in a lake. You with me? See the water and the dock? We're swimming at night when it's not so hot. Skinny dipping, even. See us?"

The angel swallowed awkwardly and attempted a deeper, shaking breath. “Yes. I think so."

"Good shit's still gonna happen for us. You're not going anywhere. Those dicks have to go through Sammy, Amina, Bastet, and me to get to you, and that ain't happening. This?" He pulled back slightly and gestured at the angel blade discarded in his lap. “This ain't happening either. Don't even think about it."

Castiel nodded and made a genuine effort to regain control, though the irrational panic battled to control him. It remained unclear as to whether Dean had any lasting affect, but seeing the angel blade as a possible tool for suicide scared the shit out of him. He knew his voice progressively turned aggressive since his way of dealing with pain was to puff out his chest and scream, but that wouldn't work there. His aggression tempered with a deep breath.

"I've seen you clean out warehouses of demons without blinking. You're a bad ass. I know you feel like hammered shit right now but you gotta remind yourself that it's the trauma talking, not you. All this burning pain in your grace - which you didn't tell me about, by the way - yeah, it's just wearing you down, but it's getting better. Remember you healed a bone today. There's improvement. You hear me?"

"Yes." The heel of his hand dragged across his eye and wiped tears.

"You've been broken before but you came out of it. If I have to drag you kicking and screaming every day, this is _not_ how we end. They're _not_ getting their hands on you again because Mary's _not_ losing the war. We're gonna have years to hunt, argue, fuck, eat, drink, see the world, spoil Sam's kids when he has them… You follow, Cas? I'm pulling you through this shit whether you like it or not. I need you."

Despite not fully emerging from his … his panic attack, Dean guessed, Castiel looked a bit better. He closed his eyes and filled his vessel with several long, deep breaths.

"Dean, I need to know if you'll still love me if I’m just a man." The words sounded small and fragile.

"Be a man, be a woman, be an angel, or … yeah, even a demon. I don't care. _What_ you are sure as hell ain't _who_ you are." He paused and studied Castiel. “Just do me two favors. Don't make this decision until the war’s over, and don't make this decision because of what you think I might want. I'm cool either way. This is about _your_ identity. Okay?"

Hesitantly, Castiel nodded.

Dean had no idea how to process it all, but he pushed it aside within himself. There would be time to sort through it on his own time. Or not. A litany of bad shit he'd witnessed over the years never got dealt with, so maybe he'd just add Castiel's trauma to the pile. He was fine. He was always fine as long as the people he loved were safe and relatively unscathed at the end of every day. They'd just chalk up that Tuesday as one of the bad days.

"Just keep breathing steady," he said soothingly with an affectionate hand rubbing his thigh. “You're coming out of it good."

"I'm sorry, Dean." He leaned back, frustrated, looking to the ceiling.

"Shit happens," Dean replied. “We're rolling with it."

*****

"Can you reach that book?" On her tiptoes, Amina stretched with sweet little grunts, but the offending book sat on a shelf far out of reach.

They'd taken to spending most of their afternoons in the bunker library after Sam came home from work. That day, Sam enjoyed the view of her struggle for a moment. Her turquoise tank top with thin spaghetti straps lifted as her arm stretched helplessly to the shelf in question. He eyed the soft, flat plane of her abdomen. She wore a blossoming, thin sort of skirt in a delicate ivory shade that dangled just above her knees.

Nothing about her appearance alluded to showing off or seeking attention, but Sam spent the better part of the week memorizing her body's curved lines. Her hips drove him to distraction, but he still hadn't taken their relationship further than stolen kisses. It didn't sit right with him to sleep with her before having the dreaded “I'm an ex-demon blood junkie" conversation. Being honorable enough to keep his hands off the prize didn't stop him from kissing her whenever he could or having intense dreams at night.

"Sam, help?" Amina insisted.

"What's that book worth to you?" A light smirk played his lips and he casually leaned back in his chair.

She glanced at him over her shoulder with a crescent of a smile and a certain playfulness in her blue eyes. Her command of human subtlety improved daily and she understood his flirtation. Abandoning the bookshelf, her bare feet padded across the library and draped over his lap, legs folded sideways. That ladylike pose dug her hip into his groin as she leaned forward and kissed him. Peppermint tingled his mouth.

"Are you ever gonna get tired of that candy?" he teased against her lips.

"Doubtful. I love my candy. Dean has his cigarettes. Cas has his coffee. You have your… Hmm. Do you have any bad habits?"

Sam's face lifted in an exaggerated heroic expression. “Not one."

"Liar." Her lopsided smile bewitched him even if her innocent comment felt like taking a gut shot. “Every human has a bad habit somewhere."

He didn't want to talk about bad habits. Strong hands both pushed hair back from one side of her face and tugged her closer by her thigh. His kiss dove deeply into hers in an attempt to lose himself in the intoxication of her scent, her warmth, her softness, and her stunning presence. She was, to him, everything pure and clean in his world that had been covered by the grime of suffering, blood, and death. When he kissed her, he hoped to drink enough light to penetrate his darkness.

Sam toyed with a bit of exposed skin between her tank top and skirt. Her eyes glittered in the artificial library light as they gazed. Dark hair framed her face and hung over her shoulders. He wanted to remember that image of her, truly looking like the angelic creatures of mythology.

"Are you happy here?" he inquired with a sense of quiet dread.

Amina's head tilted in the same habit that Castiel had. Her eyes squinted as well. “Why wouldn't I be happy? You give me a lot of joy, Sam. So much more than I've ever known."

Sam accepted that answer and gathered her against his chest for another kiss, yet her small hands pushed his face back. Questioning eyes studied his and he knew he started something he didn't anticipate.

"Are you unhappy with me?" she probed.

Emphatically, he denied it. "No. Not at all."

"Then why do you ask me if I'm happy here every day? You act like you're expecting my answer to change."

"Maybe it will," he replied, his tone lowering in uncertainty.

"I don't particularly enjoy the reasons that brought me here – the war in Heaven and my most cherished brother so grievously injured – but in their own ways, both of those things brought me to you. You were the one who answered the door when I found out where all of you were hiding. If I believe in any kind of fate anymore, then it was always you for a reason." Slender fingers combed through his hair around his ear. "You've become my teacher, my friend, and my lover. I would be lost without you. So of course I'm happy here."

Sam offered a small smile. "Well, technically I'm not your lover yet."

"Change that then," she whispered, peppering insistent kisses.

His body responded against his better judgement and he became vaguely aware of his fingertips tracing the length of her smooth thigh, higher, inching under her skirt. Logic demanded that he keep himself in check in spite of how good her weight felt on his lap. His mouth broke away and his forehead rested against hers, hands clutching fistfuls of her clothes to stay grounded.

"Do you know what you're asking?" he managed to say.

"Yes," she replied, fingers toying with his hair around his collar.

Hazel eyes met hers and he didn't quite know how to take that. "Am I not your first? I mean, I know some angels sleep with humans a lot but most of you--"

Amina silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips. "I was an archivist. My job was to observe and record human development, not interact with your kind. At least, not after I was reassigned from Middle Eastern tribal people. I'm comfortable and know everything because I've witnessed it all, but my personal experience with humanity is quite limited." Her silencing finger curled around his lips. "I'm human now, so I'm free to experience anything I please. And I want to experience this with you."

Nearly giving in, Sam inhaled her scent along her neck and tasted her skin, flicking his tongue here and there. A muffled, stuttering sort of breathy moan escaped into his ear.

"Wait," he said hoarsely. "Not here. Not like this."

"Why?" Pleading arched the word.

"Because I can't take my time," he whispered privately. "We'd hurry too fast here thinking Dean might walk in and I'm not rushing you through a new experience." That, and he still hadn't worked up the nerve to talk to her about the old demon blood problem. He stalled despite wanting her so bad he could taste her barely a few inches away.

"Okay, come with me then." Amina's mouth curled into an enticing smile as she slid off Sam's lap and, tightly gripping his hand, tried to pull him to his feet.

"Mina..." he chuckled. Reluctantly, he rose to his full height. "Don't you want that book up there?"

"I lost interest," she teased.

Pounding shook the bunker's front door. Instantly, Sam whipped around and put himself between Amina and his sudden alert sense of danger. He snatched his angel blade off the library table and made his way to the door with a plan to fight. No one knew they lived in the bunker, aside from the angels, and Dean's weird gang of goddesses. Normal visitors just weren't in the cards for the Winchesters.

Three hooded figures gathered around the door outside, according to the security cameras Sam passed. Amina hugged close to a wall and leaned around the doorway for a look while still protecting herself. The angel blade pointed defensively, Sam flung open the door and jammed it in their faces like a gun.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The middle figure lifted her face and let the light illuminate her features. A porcelain doll stood there as stoic and emotionless as she was made of perfect white skin. Curling blonde hair surrounded her face within the cloak. In other circumstances, the figure could have been a lovely, innocent sort of lady, but the coldness in her icy blue eyes made her appear fierce. The two figures flanking her raised their faces in unison and it settled on Sam's mind that all three looked identical. Triplets? His eyes darted from face to face, trying to make sense of it.

Somewhere behind him, Amina gasped in the interior of the bunker.

The middle woman's eyes shifted to her and a slightly more human expression of recognition lifted her features. "Amina, darling," she said.

"Wait." Defensively, Sam pressed the angel blade to her throat, stopping her from moving past him. "Show me your eyes."

The cloaked lady gave an impatient, irritated sigh. Clearly, she understood his meaning and directed her eyes up to meet his. Dim light ignited in the pale blueness, growing intensely, and the other two followed suit. Three sets of unbearably bright angel eyes glowed at him until he squinted to protect the fragility of his own human vision. Fine, fine. They satisfied him enough that they weren't demons.

Throwing his arm across the doorway, he looked back at Amina. "You know them?"

"Yes," she replied as she traipsed toward them. "They're handmaidens."

Nodding, he stepped aside. He backed away and yelled, "Dean!" toward the stairs, hoping it was loud enough to pull him away from Castiel.

The three identical handmaidens strolled into the bunker as if they lived there and the last one flicked her wrist, which shut the front door without touching it. Amina exchanged embraces with each of them like greeting much older, long lost aunts, but Sam watched intently with the angel blade firmly gripped in his hand.

Dean's heavy utility boots pounded down the stairs, and he appeared, rather ashen and distracted. He raked a hand over his head more in a mentally cleansing gesture than the need to push away nonexistent hair.

"You okay?" Sam inquired.

"Another panic attack. S'fine now," Dean muttered. He froze and stared down the three cloaked handmaidens.

Anticipating a disrespectful quip, Amina stepped closer. "Dean," she said, her voice slightly more reverent, "these are Mother Mary's handmaidens. They are Batina, Claudia, and Sorina."

"I'm Batina," one said.

"I'm Sorina," the other said in an identical voice.

Poor Amina faced them abruptly with wide dark blue eyes that looked deeply shamed. "I apologize. I can no longer see your true forms."

Batina, apparently the leader, framed Amina's face in her hands and kissed the center of her forehead. Her hands hooked around the handmaiden's wrists, leaning into the matronly affection. Emotion clouded her face but Sam couldn't quite read it. Longing? Fear? He guessed she missed her family despite being forced out, and that left him so unsettled. Given the choice between them or him....

"Can we cut to the chase here?" Dean pressed, his voice cutting directly through Sam's thoughts.

The handmaiden Batina passed Amina to one of the others - Sam couldn't remember who was Claudia and who was Sorina - and she moved like liquid across the room toward Dean. He defensively folded his arms over his chest as she approached. An outward sweep of her graceful, aristocratic arms flung the length of her cloak. It swept off her head and shoulders like being caught in a gust of wind, yet the entire length of gold embroidered silk melted into the air. The damn thing disappeared without ever touching the floor, revealing a medieval dress of the same gold silk brocade and curly blonde hair long enough to touch her rear.

"Where'd you get the Disney princess meat suits?" Dean asked.

"You know it now as Croatia," she replied. "The only aristocratic triplets to survive childbirth in those days. They prayed to serve, just as all angelic vessels pray to serve."

"Mh-hmm," came Dean's skeptical reply. "What's Mary want with us?"

Sam feared his brother's acute directness would offend them, but Batina faintly smiled in amusement as if she expected it.

"This." Her hand swept over the nearest research table and an antiquated chest materialized just the way the cloak had de-materialized. "My Lady asks that you guard this with your lives. This is the only place where demons cannot gain access, and yours is the only family equipped to raise a proper defense in an attack."

It piqued Dean's interest, Sam knew. Even Amina peered around the handmaidens in curiosity. The younger Winchester found Batina's theatrics a bit funny, and Dean probably would have too if he wasn't having such a stressful day, but Sam guessed her theatrics weren't intentional. Surely she didn't use her vessel often. Angels probably did everything by the power of thought the way humans did everything by the power of their bodies.

A silent, curling finger lifted the lid. They all leaned forward expectantly and saw rows upon rows of glass vials containing bright whitish-blue liquid light. All lined up together in the confines of a velvet lined chest made the concentration of light so powerful that it stung their eyes.

Fearlessly, shocked even, Amina rushed to the chest. "My grace. I feel it!" Her voice climbed in astonishment.

"Yes," Batina admitted the allegation.

"Yours and one hundred forty six others," added Sorina.

"They are the graces of our Lady's highest host," explained Claudia, "collected and preserved before the Lord extracts them for vengeance."

Closing the chest with her hands that time, Batina carried it to Dean and deposited it in his arms. "You must hide them until we come for them. No one - _no one_ \- must know they exist here. Only we may reclaim them. If anyone comes claiming to be sent by my Lady, other than us, you must kill them."

"Kill?" Sam repeated in disbelief.

"We're at war."

Of course. It silenced him, not that he enjoyed the idea of killing, contrary to the image of a hunter.

The Sorina figure - he thought she was Sorina anyway - had a gentler, softer presence that reminded him of Amina. "Dean, you're not being forced," she promised. "Should you refuse the responsibility, you'll face no consequences and neither will your family."

"Really," he said skeptically, though not rudely. "You won't take it out on Cas or Amina if we say no."

"Correct."

"Why not? All of you are trigger happy with the smiting shit when we don't do exactly what you want like obedient little drones. How do we know all this juice wasn't sucked out by, oh I dunno, more  _torture_?"

"It's all voluntary. My Lady fights for the freedom of her children. Do not confuse the practices of the Lord with my Lady," Batina said from behind the gentler Sorina. "They are not the same entity and do not conduct themselves in the same manner. With the Lord ripping out the grace of every angel loyal to my Lady, her highest host has chosen to remove their own and go into hiding until it's safe. All of them walk among humans undetected this day, like Amina. You've been entrusted with the most precious thing to an angel. My Lady's faith in the Righteous Man is boundless."

Silenced, Dean stared down at the chest in his arms.

Equally silenced, Amina had long since drifted into the background. Life drained from her eyes and a haunted pallor overtook her complexion the moment she realized that chest contained her grace too. Sam's instinct told him to keep his distance for the moment, though he also felt the urge to take her hand and run away from the possibility that she might reclaim her grace and never see him again.

"What about Cas?" asked Dean in a more submissive tone.

The handmaiden Claudia answered him. "It's dangerous to remove Castiel's grace before it heals. The delicate state it's in now is so raw that we feel his pain in this close proximity."

"Yes," Sorina agreed mournfully.

"He suffers," added Batina. "We have help for him as well."

"My Lady sends this for his grace's pain." A glass bottle of some unknown green liquid emerged from within Sorina's cloak and she handed it to Dean. "Human opiates don't touch his grace, though you're doing a great deal to speed along his vessel's recovery. Your devotion is to be commended. Has he been feverish?"

"Yeah, today," replied Dean. "He complains about burning."

Sorina nodded as if she'd heard the symptoms before. "Regeneration is a difficult process. The temporary instability will bring intense fevers and an inability to control his strength. It will wildly swing from terrible weakness to unintentional smiting, but once he has recovered, he will return to the angel you know." She tapped her fingernail on the bottle. "Let him drink a cup when the burning seems worse or when he's feverish. It will help."

"Here," Dean said, holding out the bottle to Amina, who accepted it. He tucked the chest under his arm. "Okay, we're gonna hide it. Right, Sammy?"

"Yeah," he agreed. He only agreed -  _the only reason_ \- was to protect Amina's grace sitting somewhere in that wooden box.

"Good." A subtle crease of Batina's lips suggested a smile. "How would you boys like to go on a hunt? It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"What hunt?" asked Dean immediately.

The three handmaidens ambled with antiquated grace to the front door again, clearly done with the meeting. "It's being arranged. Collect information on Delphine and Leonard LaLaurie in the meantime. Be prepared to leave three days from now. You will travel undetected and you--" Batina stared directly at Sam, "--you will not arouse suspicion by missing days at your job. This hunt will be conducted on your free days."

"...Okay," Sam replied, glancing at his brother.

"Go about your lives," she instructed all of them, "remember that you're being watched by the Lord's angels as well as the King of Hell's demons. Don't give them any reason to hunt you. You must remain the hunters. Go to work, Sam. Court Amina in public. Dean, acquire a wheelchair and let Castiel outside when he feels stronger. You must all make those watching you believe you're going about your business without involvement in our war. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yeah," both Sam and Dean agreed.

Somewhere behind the group, Amina nodded absently. It unsettled Sam how silent her entire presence became, as if stunned and unable to speak coherently. Yet, that wasn't quite it either. Her mind wasn't there. Being so close to her own grace again dragged her out of that honeymoon haze and threw her crashing headlong into the dichotomy of her new existence.

"You'll be instructed further in three days' time. Hide the chest, Dean."

Before Dean could finish nodding, the Virgin Mary's three identical handmaidens disappeared.

Silence.

The three of them looked at each other, uncertain of what to do.

"Unbelievable," Sam muttered, shaking his head. "All this again."

Irrational frustration pumped through his body in a burst that exploded in throwing a punch at the wall as he passed. His fist cracked and ached immediately but he didn't give a shit. He stalked upstairs and shut himself in his bedroom without a word to the others.

Just one day, he craved normalcy. No hunts, no getting mixed up in celestial wars, and the ability to love a girl unaffected by his freakish life. The taste of happiness - the tease of it - hurt more than not having it at all. Now he just knew he faced the very real possibility of Amina inserting her grace again, or whatever the hell they did with it, and flying off somewhere to problems bigger than him. The minute it hit her system again, anything she felt for him would certainly melt away along with the rest of her emotions.

He wasn't Dean. She wasn't Castiel. Theirs was not the kind of story that changed the world. He knew the boy with the demon blood wasn't worth the once-in-a-millennium soulmate bond given to his brother. Sam was part demon, not the Righteous Man. Once she got her grace back, she'd see the ugliness of his demon face and wash her hands of him.

Sam sat on the end of his bed squeezing the pain out of his hand. And he knew tomorrow, he'd show up for the family. He always did.

Soft knocking fell on his door.

"Sam?" Amina said through the wood. "Can I come in?"


	16. The Alleged Case of a Normal Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchester brothers prepare to leave Castiel and Amina for a hunt in New Orleans. Although Dean doesn't like the idea of leaving Castiel before his injuries are healed, he puts Amina to the test to see if she can defend him. And Sam's distraction and moodiness after fighting with Amina the night before prompts a verbal ass kicking from his older brother to get his head in the game. The stress is starting to eat away at Dean, so Castiel turns the caretaker tables, wraps him in his wings, and lulls him into sleep. He'll need his rest if he's going to collect a martyred soul in New Orleans.

It was done. Dean sparked a cigarette outside, feeling the dry Kansas heat bleed into his clothes, satisfied that he'd hidden one hundred forty seven vials of grace as best as he could.

Deep in the bowels of the bunker, he'd discovered a dungeon built in much the same way Bobby had built his panic room. The dungeon, however, contained restraints and sigils designed to hold anything prisoner that managed to get that far. He couldn't see how angels, demons, or monsters could infiltrate, but he'd set traps around the dungeon just in case.

He sucked long drags off his cigarette, enjoying the quiet for a moment. Although Castiel seemed to have a better day, he was bored and demanding. _Dean_ , bring more magazines. _Dean_ , when can I have a television? _Dean_ , coffee would be satisfying now. _Dean_ , have you tried Amina's candy? _Dean, Dean, Deeeeeaaaan_!

It wouldn't have worn his patience so thin if Sam and Amina hadn't been fighting all night. He accused her of using him for kicks until she got her grace back. She accused him of not trusting her. They both screamed things they didn't mean, not because they were actually angry at _each other_ , but because they were scared shitless of losing what they only just started to build. Dean was the greatest expert on hurting the people he loved the most because of fear. But somewhere around three in the morning, he shuffled down the hall, pounded on Sam's door, and told them to take it downstairs before they caused Castiel any more unnecessary pain. The angel's grace couldn't tolerate much noise. It physically hurt him.

Thinking of it outside, Dean flicked his cigarette in the grass and ground it out with his boot just as Amina crossed the yard toward him. Her stride still resembled a woman scorned. He guessed they hadn't kissed and made up yet, but he had business to take care of.

"Can we get this over with?" she snarled. “I don't know why you can't take my word for it."

"I can’t leave Cas defenseless with just anyone," Dean replied. “You say you can fight, so if you can take me down, I've got no problem lea—"

An explosive impact knocked Dean backwards by the side of his jaw. He stumbled and growled in pain, instantly correcting his posture. Quick reflexes grabbed her wrist but she used his grip against him. Jerking him forward, the hard heel of her other hand popped him across the nose. He felt blood.

"The hell, Amin—"

She hurled another punch, even stronger than the first. Impact hit the tender spot of his cheekbone and he felt his skin rip open, dribbling blood down his face. Stars appeared in his eyes. He stumbled again and he couldn't regain his composure before Amina spun on one foot and reverse kicked him hard like a goddamn action movie. The agility and quick response, intense focus, and perfect balance of her body got the best of Dean.

His ass hit the ground and Amina grabbed his wrist, jerking his arm straight up and twisting until his shoulder socket burned. She stood over him with her heel crammed into his sternum. He grabbed her leg with his free hand to knock her to the ground but she twisted harder until he shrieked.

A single question materialized from her lips. “Are we clear now?"

"Yeah," he said, a growl of faint pain in his voice.

Nodding, Amina released the hold on him and backed away.

"Where'd you learn to fight?" Dean rolled and stood again.

"Castiel." She grabbed his cigarette pack next to his Coke bottle on the ground. “You mind?"

"You don't smoke," he said. “You're a health nut like Sammy."

“ _Sammy_ wants to be angry with me. I'm giving him something to be angry about." A flick or two of the lighter and Amina began her first cigarette.

Dean snatched the cigarette from her mouth, saying, “You don't wanna do that. Don't get addicted to this shit just because you're having a fight with your boyfriend." It might have been the most hypocritical thing Dean ever said but maybe she could be spared of repeating his mistakes.

A shaky, frightened sort of breath passed through her as she shook her head and stared at the horizon. “It's like he's inventing things to yell at me about and I don't understand what I've done."

"He's scared," Dean replied in sharpened truth.

"Of what? Me?"

"Partially. Thing is Sammy's had a rough time. He was in love in college and he watched her die the same way our mother died. More than one of his girlfriends after Jess died in gruesome ways too, so it's kind of what he expects."

"I'm not dying though," she argued.

"But you're gonna take back your grace once the war ends."

Her eyes narrowed. “That doesn't mean I'm leaving him. Castiel's still with you."

"Cas left me a million times. I left him too. You may think Heaven and Earth are compatible, that you can have both, but it's not gonna work. You angels always come to heel when home calls because you can't feel how much leaving hurts us. Sammy watched me drink myself to stupidity every time Cas left. Knowing it'll happen to him too? Yeah, he's trying to put up his armor so you can't see his fear. I did the same thing to Cas." He knew the truth probably hurt as he rubbed her arm in a brotherly gesture.

Long, contemplative silence engulfed the yard. She stared blankly at the eastern sky. “Why couldn't he just tell me?"

"Pride," replied Dean. “Winchesters are full of it."

She sighed heavily and hugged herself. “I haven't been human long, you know, but I think I love him. Is that even possible?"

"Sure, it is." He shrugged.

"And Castiel - is he happy with you? I mean, has he thought about giving it all up?"

That was a sticky question. He hesitated. “When we're allowed to be together, we're happy. He's…" Dean hesitated again, choosing his words carefully. “I mean, you should probably talk to Cas about this stuff but … but yeah. He's considering us being together permanently."

"Permanently." Yeah, Amina understood, he thought. She nodded.

"Go easy on Sammy. Tell him how you feel. It'll make him less … bitchy."

Promises to talk to both Sam and Castiel calmly and rationally followed. He complimented her again on her combat skills, also reminding himself to commend Castiel for teaching her. The angel probably trained hundreds of other angels when he was a garrison captain.

They parted ways, Amina headed upstairs with a bag of peppermint candies to split with her brother, and Dean headed down to the storage rooms with beers to split with his brother. He hadn't had a drink in three weeks but an occasional beer wouldn't hurt anything, especially since Sam clearly needed to talk. The basement storage rooms split off from the dungeon but there weren't nearly enough lights. He found Sam cross-legged on the floor with an open box of manila file folders.

"Hey," Sam greeted. “Get this. We've got files on Delphine LaLaurie."

"Who?" Sliding to the floor, Dean leaned against a shelf and handed Sam one of the beer bottles.

"The people we're supposed to look into for the hunt."

"Oh, right. And?"

Sam's brow arched as he leafed back to the first page in his file. “Well, these people lived in New Orleans in the early nineteenth century. Delphine was a socialite. They owned dozens of slaves. Apparently she married some kind of Dr. Frankenstein because they did all kinds of gruesome medical experiments on their slaves." He flipped more pages. “The house keeps getting sold. Nobody lives there long. Our records stop in 1980 but there’s a ton of lore on the slave ghosts there."

"Sounds pretty open and shut. Why do the angels care?" He swallowed some of his beer and savored the taste.

"Dunno. Maybe we're a diversion or something. You know, throw a piece of meat out there to get the dogs distracted and running the wrong way. That's my best guess." He grabbed his beer for a long swallow and his voice lowered. “I don't really care. I just wanna hunt."

Silence filled the dimly lit basement like a giant elephant in the room. Only the sound of Sam rifling through the file box marked 'LaLaurie' interrupted Dean's awkward silence. They both drank in intervals and sat so quietly that Dean considered getting up and leaving. His brother had an uncanny ability to completely shut down and throw himself into work to avoid his own troubled life.

"You notice my face?" he asked.

Sam glanced at him and squinted. He shined his flashlight. “What happened to you?"

"Amina beat my ass."

Dumbly, Sam gaped. “What?"

"I wouldn't feel good about leaving unless she proved she could fight. So she did." He laughed. “She kicked my ass and said Cas was the one who taught her to fight. She's pretty awesome."

"Mh-hmm." Detached, closed, and avoiding eye contact, Sam looked through old photocopies of blueprints and historical paintings.

"Sammy—"

"—Nope."

"Listen—"

"—Not now, Dean."

Irritated, the older Winchester punched the younger Winchester's arm, shoving him back, spinning him. " _Listen_! Don't be a dick. You do know she loves you, right?"

"Bull."

"Dude!" Dean rolled his eyes. “You idiot. She just told me so outside after I yanked a cigarette out of her mouth because she doesn't get why you're so pissed. She wanted to smoke just to give you something to be pissed about that she could understand. I wouldn't let her do it. I'm not having my bullshit addictions ruin a new human."

Sam tried to appear detached. Sure, Dean gave him credit for trying, but he knew it was just a tough guy front. His brother peaked at him sideways through his long hair.

"Yeah, not so pissy now, are you?" Dean rolled his eyes again. “Fix it, Sammy. You gotta get your head in the game and obsessing about this girl's gonna get you or me killed. It's fucking stupid that you're trying to push her away before she even decides what to do about her grace."

The stony silence seemed different than Sam's usual bitch faces, huffs, and eye rolls. He looked defeated. “No angel would choose to be with someone who's part demon. I don’t look like this to them." He pointed to his own face. “Ask Cas what I look like."

"You're assuming she's like them. Obviously not if she rebelled for Cas. Give her a chance, Sammy. That girl loves you. I doubt a little demon blood's gonna push her away. If she'd be with you even after taking back her grace, which she will, then she's already willing to rebel. Human or demon, it makes no difference to them. Rebellion is rebellion. Fix this now, Sammy, and get your head in the fucking game. Putting my life at risk puts Cas' life at risk, and I ain't having that shit. You read me?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly.

Dean didn't intend for it to be a verbal ass kicking but sometimes that's what Sam needed to find his footing. He patted the back of his brother's shoulder as he climbed to his feet, and then finished his beer.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

He looked up from the floor. “Ask her to come down here?"

"Sure." A small smile of victory creased Dean's mouth as he strolled toward the stairs.

He made his way up two flights to the bedrooms and living space, where he met Amina coming out of his and Castiel's room. The two of them made quite a dent in the bag of peppermint candies, he noticed. Angels seemed to have a voracious sweet tooth, graceless or not.

"You feeling better?" he asked sincerely.

Amina nodded. “I forgot how much I always relied on Castiel's guidance. He said—"

Abruptly, Dean raised his hand. “It's okay. Keep your brother-sister thing tight. I know how it is. I mean, I never had a sister, but you know, Sammy has a lot of moodiness like a girl." He smirked at his own joke.

Another nod and a sweet, tiny smile came. “Sorry I hurt you."

"My face?" He puffed out his chest with a playful sense of bravado. “Nah, it’s nothing. I take hits like that from girls all the time."

"I'm a lady, Dean, not a girl," she corrected through a sideways glance.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are." He nodded. “Look, Sammy's down in the basement and he wants to talk to you."

Her presence sobered. “Talk or yell?"

"Talk," Dean promised.

"Okay." Amina took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. He wondered where she learned that sense of bravado that reminded him of himself. She moved past him and headed downstairs.

Alone in the hallway, Dean rolled his eyes at the whole thing and slumped his back against the wall. Jesus Christ, fights between boyfriends and girlfriends were not his job to fix. The handmaidens insisted that they live normal lives to not arouse any suspicion. Problem was Dean had no real conception of a normal life, aside from the year with Lisa. He guessed helping Sam with girl problems was normal. It was annoying but it was _normal_. Now if he managed to fix at least some of the hurt feelings, the hunt might go well after all.

Dean pushed off the wall and felt an overwhelming need to be with Castiel. They had their problems, sure, but it reminded him of how far they came together. The odd, romantic inclination in him felt foreign and strange but he allowed himself to feel it.

But as Dean entered the bedroom, he stopped short at the sight of Castiel concealed by his own wing. He sat upright in bed with the massive raven wing curled around him and arched over his upper body. The wing shook. No, not quite shaking. It rocked in short motions.

"Cas?"

The wing flattened suddenly against his chest, though its width covered him to the knees. His head appeared over the black feathers and his expression appeared much like a child busted doing something wrong.

"What are you doing?" Dean inquired, trying to be sensitive, but the sight struck him as rather comical.

"I itch." Short rocking motions began again. "What happened to you?"

He touched his cheek. "Your sister kicked the crap out of me."

"Dean, I told you she could do it," he replied, distracted by his wing.

The hunter laughed low in his chest as he watched Castiel obsessively scratch like a little kid relieving chicken pox. He crept closer to the bed as the angel lifted his wing vertical toward the ceiling. Long fingers raked and scratched along the bits of flesh sporting new fuzzy growth of black feathers. Healing apparently itched like misery for angel wings.

"Should you be doing that? I mean, don't bend too much. Your bones are still broken. Doesn't it hurt to bend that way?"

"Yes, but it itches more," the angel replied.

"Okay, well, shove over. I'll do it. Stop bending," he offered.

It didn't bother Dean in the slightest. He still lived in awe of Castiel's wings and never took it for granted that he was the only human on Earth who could see and touch them. Carefully, he placed a hand on Castiel's ribs and the other on his thigh, sliding him to one side of the bed. He sat cross-legged beside the angel, facing him, and unfurled the glorious wing over his lap. The healing blanket of black feathers, muscle, and flesh stretched to the floor. Castiel stuffed a pillow higher behind his back and lounged against the shelf built into the head of the bed.

Dean observed Castiel's face as he took to kneading his winged flesh like a person might knead a stiff shoulder or knee. Relaxing pleasure soon clouded the angel's eyes and a soft smile played his lips. He avoided rubbing along the fractured bone but occasionally scratched this or that patch of new feathery growth. Scratching, he noticed, made goosebumps rise both on his wing and his vessel.

"Feel better?"

"Your hands always know how to please me, Dean."

Smirking, Dean wondered if he understood his own double entendre. "Is the itching normal?"

"Unfortunately, yes. New feathers do that to us." Castiel's nose wrinkled, his attention shifting from his miserable itch. "I smell beer on you."

"I had one with Sammy."

Dark blue eyes bore a hole into his forehead. Dean recoiled.

"Don't give me any grief. He's upset. We had a beer. We talked. It's what we do. It's our thing. Doesn't mean I'm back to sucking down a fifth every day." He struggled to keep eye contact with Castiel when he looked disappointed like that, but one beer was nothing. Quickly, he changed the subject. "Sammy's found files on the people the handmaidens told us we're hunting. Looks like a bullshit ghost case to us."

"What are the specifics?" asked Castiel.

"People in New Orleans," Dean replied. "Looks like a doctor in the 1800s did experiments on slaves and the missus helped him. The place is crawling with slave ghosts. Nobody lives there very long anymore."

Castiel's throat made a low sound of understanding.

"Why are we being sent down there for some bullshit ghost case?"

"I don't know." He fell silent for a time as Dean shifted further down the wing and continued rubbing out the tension. "Martyrs. It has to be about the martyrs."

"Huh? Frankenstein's a martyr?"

"No, the slaves." Castiel's voice shifted to reverence the way it did whenever he quoted scripture or whatever holy texts told him about those universal mysteries. "It is written that any human who dies under the yoke of bondage shall be received as a martyr in Heaven. It's never an accident. Martyrs are chosen before they're born. It's in their blood, just as it's in people's blood to become angelic vessels, or prophets, and so on. Mother Mary may need the soul of a martyr for the spell to transform her from angel to goddess."

That made more sense to Dean but he didn't grasp it all. "Why doesn't she just nab a martyr in Heaven?"

"She probably can't. God certainly has Heaven locked down as tight as any fortress to restrict her movements." He watched Dean as his fingers worked the wing. "Human slaves ... tortured slaves ... their souls have been trapped in that house since the LaLauries killed them. Their martyrdom is strong and well-preserved because the memories of their torture are still as fresh as if it happened yesterday." Color slowly drained from his face speaking of it, quite nearly as if speaking of himself. "I would search for martyred souls in such places if I needed to collect one."

Hair on the back of Dean's neck rose on end. He nodded but he knew he had to divert from that subject before it triggered another episode of reliving Castiel's own torture. "Well, tomorrow I'm gonna go into Lebanon when I drop Sammy off for work and see if I can find you a TV. There has to be a Walmart or something in town. You want anything else?"

"Cheeseburger," Castiel said, a smile tugging one corner of his mouth.

Dean's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "More food? The coffee, the candy, now more cheeseburgers." He paused. "You're acting more human every day."

The half-smile lingered on Castiel's lips, concealing things in his vague words. "Just testing the waters, Dean."

He glanced at the angel skeptically. "You promised you wouldn't make any decisions yet."

"I haven't decided. That doesn't mean I won't think about it or sample human things until the time comes." Castiel's hand covered his and ceased the lazy scratching. "Dean, you're exhausted."

"What else is new?" he grumbled. "You're pretty much helpless. Sammy's reverting back to beating himself up about the demon blood. I've got an extra mouth to feed with Amina. We're hiding over a hundred tiny little bottles of angel mojo that may or may not attract gangs of pissed off angels or greedy demons. There's an angel rebellion going on up there depending on the Righteous Man to help get their freedom and make a friggin goddess. I'm pretty sure I'm still hunted because I'm in love with you and I'm helping your mother." He felt his blood pressure climbing in the steady thumping of his pulse in his neck. "No pressure there. None at all."

Nodding, Castiel's expression smoothed into compassion. "You always find a way, Dean. I haven't seen anything that you can't do. Remember you can't save everyone, though you try."

"The only ones I really care about are under this roof. Everyone else can suck it if it comes down to making a choice," he said defiantly.

"Come here." Castiel opened his arm and wiggled his fingers in a beckoning motion.

The hunter hesitated, so aware of the angel's injuries, but he looked better and moved around more. Maybe it would be okay. He reasoned that it wouldn't hurt him too bad, or maybe he was simply that starved for affection and quiet peace. Watchful of his wing and his leg, Dean crept over Castiel, settling most of his weight on his torso and shoulder. An arm wrapped around Castiel's waist and the other arm snaked underneath his wing, while his head rested on the slender line of his collarbone. He stretched out his body along the length of Castiel's, yet kept his weight off injuries.

Lazy fingers drew aimless lines along Dean's arm and occasionally slipped inside the short sleeve of his shirt. "There is only so much one man can do, Dean, but you are an exceptional man," murmured Castiel, his chin resting at the top of his head. "You have to be in good condition for the hunt. I want you to rest. Your brother and my sister are capable of looking after themselves."

"Don't you get sick of watching me sleep?" Dean asked, already drowsy.

"No. I watch over you. It's my thing." The angel smiled against Dean's hair, parroting his very human phrase.

Castiel's arm beneath Dean curled around his shoulders and his fingers threaded through his light hair. The combined languid sensations of fingers trailing along his arm and through his scalp quickly had him feeling like a pile of Jell-O.

The last thing Dean remembered before the peace of unconsciousness engulfed him was the liquid silk and tickling fuzzy feeling of angel wings. Castiel wrapped the length of his body in his own raven wing to keep him warm and create a sense of protection. Dean slept hard - so hard, in fact, that a full twelve dreamless, silent, peaceful hours passed before he awoke again.

One more day of attempted normalcy and the Virgin Mary's handmaidens would return. The life of a hunter rambled on.


	17. They Sell Angels At Walmart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Amina go to Walmart to stock up the bunker on supplies for while the boys are gone in New Orleans on the hunt. What's supposed to be an everyday shopping trip turns into an angelic attack on Amina's life. The angel sent to execute her wasn't quite normal though, was she? As they return to the bunker, they find the Virgin Mary's handmaidens waiting for them with instructions for the hunt. But Dean is uncomfortable with what they need him to do and even more uncomfortable with leaving when Castiel regenerating his grace makes him spike a fever. Will Dean go to New Orleans and obey the Virgin Mary in spite of his fears?

"Thanks for the ride," said Sam as he climbed out of the Impala.

Grumbling, Dean nodded. "It's barely light out. I can't wait 'til you get your own car. This is inhuman."

Bright and fresh as a flower, almost irritatingly so, Amina slid out from the back seat and cuddled Sam around the waist. Apparently they kissed and made up last night, Dean thought from the driver's seat. He watched Sam yank his wallet out from his back pocket and produce some cash for her, looking awfully proud of himself as he did it. Dean couldn't say anything. He'd borrowed money from Sam to buy a television for Castiel too. It actually seemed to improve his opinion of himself to be the big provider in the family. Sam's hands gently gripped Amina's face and he kissed her goodbye. The older brother groaned and looked away.

Finally, Amina climbed in the passenger seat beside Dean and waved out the window, saying, "See you at four! Have a good day!"

"Everything okay now?" asked Dean as he pulled away.

"I think so. He apologized for yelling at me. I told him I love him and I don't take this lightly like he thinks," she said. "I still feel like something's off balance in him but I don't want to force anything."

"Yeah," Dean acknowledged. Of course. Sam still hadn't grown a pair to tell her about the demon blood. It wasn't his business as long as Sam kept his focus during the upcoming hunt though. He looked at Amina's profile. "Breakfast?"

"Starving," she agreed eagerly.

Lebanon, Kansas, near the border of Nebraska, had once been one of those picturesque American small towns. Old-fashioned red brick buildings lined a wide main street but many of the storefronts stood abandoned as people moved away, presumably in the economic collapse. The people of Lebanon itself probably only numbered in the low hundreds and most of them were farmers. Most of Kansas looked that way, really, with the exception of a few larger cities like Kansas City or Wichita. Even Lawrence, where Dean was from, looked like a bustling college town compared to the desolation around Lebanon. It was, honestly, a perfect place to hide.

Every small Midwestern town had that one diner where everybody ate and caught up on gossip though. He had a knack for finding those places from years on the road. Dean and Amina had breakfast together in a corner booth with dark red vinyl seats. People eyed the strangers with a certain skepticism and curiosity that Dean came to expect from small town people early in his life.

He ate his eggs, waffles, and sausage hungrily, while Amina did her best to finish a pile of pancakes and hash browns. She decided raspberry iced tea was the greatest thing she'd ever tasted and made the waitress tell her exactly how to make it at home. Dean smiled to himself. She went after things she wanted with gusto, just like her brother.

They called Castiel back at the bunker twice during breakfast to make sure he was okay alone. Dean didn't intend on being out very long, but the other problem with rural communities was the lack of local shopping. Their waitress told them a new Walmart Super Center was just built eight months ago, but they nearly had to drive to Topeka to reach it. Dean didn't like the idea of being that far from Castiel, but he had to stock up on things before the hunt.

"Cas? You okay?" Dean spoke into his cell phone as he eyeballed different televisions in the electronics section.

"Dean, I'm fine. I'm reading a book," the voice on the line replied.

"Bodice ripping romance novel, right? Quivering members, heaving bosoms, dudes with flowing Fabio hair..."

Castiel chuckled, a rare sound. "No, ancient seafaring mythology."

"Sexy," he teased. "I think I found a TV we can afford. I'll call you back."

They said goodbye and Dean read all the information on a thirty-two inch flatscreen that would fit on the dresser. Amina thought it would be a good fit too, so he lifted one of the boxes into the bottom shelf of their shopping cart.

"I got the salt you asked for too," Amina said, tapping a ten pound sack of rock salt in the basket of the cart.

"Thanks," he replied, also seeing a white leather lady's handbag. "I see you got distracted on the way."

She smirked. "Ladies are supposed to carry their possessions in such things. It looks like one in  _Vogue_ , only significantly less expensive."

"At least you're a bargain shopper," Dean commented. "What else do you need while we're gone?"

She rifled through her pocket and produced a crumbled, folded paper. Handing it to him, she declared, "I've been keeping a list of food I like and food I don't like." A bit bashfully, she shrugged. "I never know if I like something until I try it, so I keep a list for myself. You know, learning to be human."

"That's very Sammy of you," he chuckled, genuinely amused. "Okay, let's go over to the grocery half over there."

Dean felt awfully friggin domestic, he realized, standing in the coolly refrigerated produce section. For one thing, he almost never touched half the fruits and vegetables Amina wanted. For another thing, he never stocked up on that much food in one shot. They never had the money before and they never stayed in one place long enough. Sam certainly finagled Dean into domestic stability with very little nudging here or there, and he secretly admitted to liking it. As long as he had Castiel, that is. His worst bouts of restlessness came when his loved ones were all gone, but having them close made mundane bullshit like grocery shopping almost a pleasant novelty.

With a pit stop to pick up ammunition - another perk of living in a rural area - they headed for the checkout lines. It seemed strange to Dean that he didn't have that nagging dread of being caught using stolen credit cards. Sam's job allowed him to use cash. Plastic bags loaded into the cart and he pushed it toward the automatic doors.

"Wait a minute," Amina said, patting his arm and gesturing toward the restrooms. "The annoyances of being human."

"Oh, right. You chicks always have tiny bladders."

As Amina ambled toward the restrooms, she waved a dismissive hand at Dean and yelled over her shoulder, "I'm a  _lady_ , Dean!"

"Anything you say, my Lady." He parked the shopping cart and leaned against the wall just outside the bathroom, waiting for her.

A minute later, another woman followed Amina into the bathroom. Blonde hair cut in a bob and dark green eyes - not that he really looked. He only noticed because she winked at him. Sure, she was pretty. Looking without touching was fine, he reminded himself, and he never flirted back. He only wanted Castiel. Pretty girls everywhere checked him out wherever he went but he almost never noticed it anymore, except there with that woman walking right by him. Jesus Christ, he really did feel married if he experienced an internal freak out about some random woman winking at him. Maybe one day after the war ended...

He checked the time on his cell phone. They had to get back and put away the groceries and hook up Castiel's television before Sam got off work. Domestic bliss, right? Except Dean itched to get to the hunt too. It was his real element. The clarity that came over his brain in hunts felt cathartic and he could eliminate big pieces of his internal rage.

Sighing impatiently, he glanced around the restroom doorway and wondered why it took women so long to pee. Maybe he preferred Castiel in a male vessel after all. Women were so high-ma--

A muffled thump echoed in the restroom. He knew the sound of a body's impact all too well and his body stiffened, suddenly alert. For a second, he didn't choose to believe the bodily thump meant anything bad until it happened again. It sounded like a stall door slammed immediately afterward.

"Amina?" Dean called into the restroom.

No sound answered back for a second until, " _Dean_!" peeled the air.

The hunter snatched the angel blade from his back pocket and burst into the women's restroom. That fucking blonde who winked at him! Amina slammed her forehead into the metal wall of the stall and threw her backwards on the floor. The woman grabbed Amina's ankle and they both tumbled to the floor - punches flying, hair ripping, fabric tearing. Dean lunged for the blonde, who flipped out her wrist. The air itself clawed into him and dragged him backwards into the far wall. He lost the angel blade in the impact.

"The Righteous Man," the woman cackled. "I need your autograph!"

An immediate scramble across the floor ensued as both women fought to reach the angel blade first. Dean growled with the strain of trying to peel himself off the wall, unable to discern if they fought a demon or an angel. He tried in vain to kick the blade toward Amina in their struggle. Blood poured from the blonde's forehead and from Amina's bottom lip.

Neither the blonde woman nor Dean anticipated Amina's gymnastic flexibility as she flipped backwards, caught her footing, and knocked the woman across the bathroom by a swift kick to the face. She grabbed the blade by the wrong end and sliced her own palm, though she didn't seem to feel it. Immediate, swift control of her new human body straddled the blonde over her waist. She grabbed a fistful of her hair and bashed her skull into the wall.

Panting heavily, the woman laughed low in her chest. "Oh, my dear Amina. Kill me if you must. The Lord will still have His way with you."

"Maybe," Amina replied in a threatening tone, "but not today."

She gave no breath of apology to her own sister as she jammed the blade into her chest. The blonde's body jerked and painfully bright white light poured into the bathroom. As she died in seconds, the hold on Dean broke and his body dropped to the floor. He blinked, regaining his senses, as Amina stood from the body and helped him stand. The massive imprint of black wings seared into the tiles across the bathroom.

"Who the hell was that?" he demanded.

"Elisabetta," Amina replied without emotion. She studied her busted lip in the wall of bathroom mirrors and grabbed some paper towels to clean up her face and wrap her hand. "God wants me executed. I'm not surprised. Any angel who falls, whether by choice or by force, must be executed because all roads lead to rebellion."

Dean yanked the blade out of Elisabetta's chest with a sickening suction noise and wiped away the blood. "Why are you so calm about this?"

"We're at war. I was a soldier before I was an archivist. How else should I behave?" She led Dean by the wrist and stepped over the body as if it was nothing but a garbage bag. "We've got to get out of here before they find the body. Hurry. Calm."

"This ain't my first rodeo," he retorted.

The cart sat untouched outside the bathroom and she pushed it to the parking lot where she continued, saying, "It's a _good_ thing that it was Elisabetta. She was young. Too young for this kind of work. Her nest was the last of the fledglings before Lucifer's war, which roughly equates to a king sending a teenager to kill his enemies. You saw her ego. She was young."

Dean pieced together what she said in his own mind as they quickly loaded bags into the Impala. "Kids don't go to war unless--"

"--Unless there aren't enough good little soldiers to go around." Amina smiled as they hopped into the car. "Whether God thinks it'd be that easy to kill me as to send a child, or manpower's lacking, it doesn't matter. The ego is the downfall of every lord and master like that."

One hand gripped the wheel as they hit the highway and the other dialed Castiel back at the bunker.

"Hello, Dean. Again."

He played it cool, deciding not to worry him. "Hey. Everything good?"

"Yes, Dean. Everything is the same as it was an hour ago."

"No weird noises or anything?" His blood boiled thinking of what he'd do to any asshole angels who tried to break into the bunker.

"No. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just checking," he lied. "We're on our way back now. Call me if anything weird happens."

"I don't know what you mean by weird, Dean. I'm just reading my book."

He had to get off the phone before Castiel wormed the truth out of him as he always did. "I gotta call Sammy. See you soon."

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Later," he replied, ending the call.

As Dean scrolled and searched for Sam's listing in his phone, Amina shook her head. "I doubt God can reach Castiel. The bunker's like a fortress for one thing, and Bastet still patrols the property. We don't know if she has any of her faithful souls with her either. Engaging her risks engaging a full-scale battle. On Earth? No, it would be foolish. God's most likely waiting for Castiel to leave the property to make any attempt."

"Then neither of you can leave until we figure this out," Dean decided.

She sighed despairingly but didn't argue. Of course it was rather wretched for angels to be so confined and he tried to see it through her eyes, but there simply was no way around it. He dialed Sam.

"What's wrong?" No hello. No formality. Dean never called him at work.

"You okay, Sammy? Anything happen?"

"No, not here. Just putting up new drywall on Pine," he replied, voice tightening. "What happened? Mina okay?"

"She's okay," Dean said. "They ... uh ... an angel tried to get her in Walmart though. It's fine. She ganked the angel but--"

"--What do you mean?" Tension bordered on fury in Sam's voice. "I told you to watch her, Dean. I told you not to leave her alone!"

"She only went to the bathroom for a minute!" shouted Dean.

"Gimme the phone." Amina jerked the phone out of Dean's hand and lowered her voice to its most placating tone. "Sam, listen to me.  _Sam_. Calm down. I'm okay. We talked about this last night, about how I'm probably on the list, remember? This is part of war. I got attacked but she was barely past a fledgling, so I overpowered her easily. God either doesn't think enough of me to send a real soldier or there aren't enough soldiers to spare. I'm fine." She paused as if listening to his response. "Yeah, I'm okay. I promise." Another pause. "No, finish your day. You can't miss any work or they'll know they got to us." With the third pause, the tension in her own body gave way. "Okay. Yeah. Bye, Sam."

"He's pissed," Dean grunted when she handed back the phone.

"You know why," she replied.

"Yeah, I know." Another one of Sam's girlfriends could die in the end no matter how careful they handled it. Dean couldn't let that happen to his brother again.

They drove in relative silence back to the bunker, both constantly checking the rear view mirror but neither acknowledging it. Dean never feared for his own life, with the exception of brief flashes in the heat of the moment, but not being able to protect other people resonated on that chord of terror. He sorted through it, wondering if he felt real affection for Amina or if the fear came from watching his little brother suffer needlessly again. But it wasn't just about Sam anymore. Castiel would suffer needlessly if Dean failed to protect his sister.

Still, the needless suffering touched him too. He did care for her. The fierce loyalty and the bravery in the way she fought smacked of Winchester strength. It unnerved him, yet made him proud all at once knowing she could kill an attacker with barely a flutter of an eyelash. Yet she receded back to the quiet sort of intellectual gentility as soon as the danger passed. A warrior and an aristocratic lady existed simultaneously in one body. It was all Dean ever wanted in a sister, if he ever considered the idea of having one in his life. He glanced at Amina in the passenger seat, quite intrigued by her cool reserve. It resembled Castiel in his fighting days.

They pulled into his parking spot at the bunker after a forty minute drive. Amina rose from the passenger side with her eyes narrowed at the yard.

"Dean?" she beckoned his attention quietly.

The hunter glanced around from gathering bags in the backseat. A triangular formation in the yard of three familiar cloaked figures awaited their arrival. Each golden thread of embroidery shined its own light in the hot afternoon Kansas sun.

"Aren't they early?" Amina asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Take the bags inside. Check on Cas."

He trudged across the yard. The middle handmaiden had been Batina last time, who he took as the leader of the trio. She didn't meet his eyes until he got within a couple of feet of her. Amina hurried to the bunker, her arms loaded down with shopping bags, her eyes carefully observing Dean and the handmaidens.

"Is she unharmed?" Batina inquired without a greeting.

"Minor injuries. She's fine. No thanks to any of you."

The delicate skin around her eyes wrinkled with distaste. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, Dean Winchester. You are well-guarded here but none can be spared once you depart this place." She pushed back her hood and the sun illuminated her blonde curls. "You need to be more careful."

"You need to be straight with me," he retaliated. "Do we have a shot at winning or are we playing with tinfoil swords until God stomps us all into submission?"

"Take heart, darling boy. My Lady provides. Her armies are gaining strength now that more goddesses are coming to her aid. Babylonian, Greek, Persian, Egyptian, Semitic, Armenian, Japanese, Incan, Assyrian, Roman, Native American, Aztecan ... All the female goddesses are joining Mary's fight for freedom." A knowing smile diminished her menacing quality. "Do you find it a coincidence that the Lord sent a fledgling to carry out an execution? When have you ever heard of children being executioners among your own kind? Recognize an act of desperation for what it is, Dean. Shall we talk inside?"

He took a breath and glanced at the ground. A _whoosh_  of wind and suddenly the four of them stood inside the main hall of the bunker. He heard bumps and rustling bags as Amina putting things away in the kitchen.

"Don't you angels ever want to  _walk_ anywhere?" he commented unhappily.

Batina ignored his complaints. "Are you prepared for the hunt?"

"I'm always ready," he boasted.

"Good. You've looked into the family?"

"Yep. Slaveowners in the early 1800s. Frankenstein kind of torture. Ghosts, abandoned house. Pretty open and shut stuff." Shrugging, he left out everything Castiel theorized about the souls of martyrs in case they were wrong.

"Oh no, Castiel was quite right," said Sorina near the library doorway.

Claudia - he guessed she was Claudia, anyway - nodded in agreement.

An incredulous sort of chuckle answered them as Dean chastised himself for forgetting that they read his thoughts all the time. He said nothing but folded his arms and waited.

"The soul of a martyr must be collected," Batina continued, "and it must be wholly in tact for it to work in the spell. You will go to New Orleans after Sam's final job requirement for the week. A plane leaves Kansas City at 9:40 tomorrow night and the both of you will be on it."

"Wait, wait, wait," protested Dean, waving his hands. "I don't fly. I drive."

"There isn't time to drive eighteen hours, work the case, and drive eighteen hours back here before Sam is due at his job again. You must slip in and out as unnoticed as possible."

The idea of being stuck on a plane already had Dean's pulse racing in the worst way. "Then use your angel mojo and zap us there!"

"No, Dean. Part of collecting a martyred soul is making the journey without Heaven's assistance. Once we leave your company today, we cannot return until it's done," Batina replied in a firm tone, suggesting it wasn't open to negotiation. She approached him and produced a brown envelope and a significantly smaller pale blue envelope. "Your airline tickets and a sleeping pill. Take it a half hour before you get on the plane and you won't remember anything about the flight."

"But I--"

"--Dean, you must have faith," she pressed. A glass jar with an antiquated silver lid covered in Enochian writing emerged from her cloak and she handed it to him. "For the transport of the soul."

He was getting damn tired of being told to have faith, yet he reminded himself that everything promised by the Virgin Mary had been fulfilled so far. Not even his own father or Bobby could boast that kind of track record, though he knew them much longer. Given enough time, surely Mary would be a disappointment too. He sighed. No, it sounded more like resignation. Flying terrified him - one of the only things in life that truly did - but refusing to go meant no martyred soul and no spell, making the war pointless.

"How exactly am I supposed to stuff a soul in a jar?" he asked.

*****

Night fell over Kansas and anxiety latched onto Dean in a nauseating grip, not that he let it show. Damn it if he didn't hate flying! The twenty-four hours leading up to it were going to make him insane and then he wouldn't have to go at all because Sam would have to lock him up in an institution. Fuck it all.

All of them had congregated around Castiel for dinner - cheeseburgers, just as he wanted - and had an impromptu meeting about the hunt. Despite Dean's surly mood about the flight, they managed to nail down contingency plans should anything go wrong on either side. Neither of the Winchester brothers felt at ease with leaving Amina and Castiel alone, but both Amina and Castiel demanded that they go. The Virgin Mary's ascension depended on them. If Dean had asked Castiel to do something for his mother, he damn well would have done it, so there was no real way Dean could refuse.

Late that night, after Sam took Amina to the bunker's shooting gallery for a lesson, Dean tried to sleep through the blue hazy glow of Castiel's new television. He rolled on his side facing the angel and hugged the pillow under his head.

"Do you want me to turn it off, Dean?"

"No," he mumbled into his pillow. "You don't sleep. You'd be bored."

The volume of the show about sharks decreased. "Better?"

"I wouldn't sleep if I was in a dark sound-proof bubble drunk and drugged out of my gourd," Dean muttered.

He felt the mattress shift as Castiel flattened beside him, rolled over, and slung an arm over his waist. They faced each other, forehead pressed to forehead, and the angel stroked his lower spine.

"Don't lay on your wing."

"I'm not," he replied. "Talk to me."

"Flying freaks me out. I mean  _really_ freaks me out," Dean said.

Castiel hummed a sound of understanding. "I'd do it for you if I could."

"I know. I think this is one of those Righteous Man things though. Whoever made up all these rules must've been bored shitless for millennia," he said sarcastically. "All these hoops we jump through - I mean, really? Is this really my life? I'm two steps away from making a trek to Mount Doom."

"I don't understand that reference."

Leave it to Castiel to make Dean laugh during an extensional crisis. He chuckled and playfully patted the angel's cheek. "We're gonna watch  _Lord of the Rings_ when I get home."

"All right," he agreed. "But Dean, you live this life because you're the only one who can. You're chosen. For better or worse, you are chosen, so you can either fight it or use it to leave the universe in better condition than when you entered it. Being such an instrument in winning the freedom of angels is no small matter. You're on the right side. These kinds of wars are never won easily but the end does justify the means. I'll be free. If Amina takes back her grace, she'll be free. Think of the millions of others of my kind oppressed and blindly obeying orders that, frankly, never make sense. It always had to be  _you_."

Dean hardly believed himself the right choice for such a big universal cause. He was screwed up. Too many daddy issues, too many one night stands, too many failures, too much drinking - well, until recently - made him hardly the morally upstanding man the angels could depend on for their freedom.

"It's not like I have a choice," he eventually said.

"Dean, you always have a choice. That's the point of placing your faith in Mother Mary. You're conscience must dictate your actions." Castiel's hand passed over Dean's hair. "Remember you're the one who taught me these things. I'm just reminding you."

"I'm doing all this for you and Amina. If I think too much about the hugeness of this whole thing ... it's too much," he replied, telling him the things he couldn't tell anyone else.

Nodding in the blue haze of the television's glow, Castiel said, "Then that's what you have to do."

Strangely, Dean felt better. He didn't think anything could put him at ease that night, especially knowing he had to be on the nightmare of a plane in about twenty hours. Castiel had a way of breaking down his self-loathing into manageable pieces. He lifted off his pillow and leaned down, claiming a grateful kiss without so much fear of causing him pain. But as unusual heat radiated from the angel, Dean let go and draped his palm over his forehead.

"You're spiking a fever." Dean climbed over Castiel and switched on the lamp at his side of the bed. He grabbed the bottle given to them by the handmaidens and the glass they'd been using for such moments. "What do I call this problem? Grace fever? No, that sounds like some fake snake oil salesman disease." He poured a glass of the green liquid. "Here. Drink."

Castiel leaned up on his elbow and began drinking the mixture, which, judging by his crinkled face, tasted like shit. "There is no term for it. Grace regeneration, I suppose. It doesn't happen often enough to warrant a name. It happens even less in a vessel."

"It can't kill you, can it?" Dean shoved a thermometer in his ear that he bought that day. When it beeped, he squinted at the screen. "It's up to 102.6 right now."

"Me, no. It can't kill me. It may damage my vessel for a while but I can heal everything once the regeneration process is complete." He swallowed more of the angel drug and wearily rubbed his eyes. "It is terribly uncomfortable to have a fever though. My head aches. I'm simultaneously cold and hot. My joints ache as well. It's the strangest sensation."

"Yeah, it's one of the shitty parts of humanity." Dean attempted to find the humor in the situation.

He hated the idea of leaving Castiel in such a depleted condition. It only pushed him to work the case even faster to get back home. Despite the great strides the angel made toward his recovery, he still couldn't walk, and he still couldn't use his injured grace to defend himself or heal anything around him. It was like leaving a kitten in the middle of the highway and hoping no cars ran over it. And if he spiked a dangerous fever - the kind that could kill his vessel - he'd have to abandon ship without another vessel ready to go.

Dean sat up most of the night keeping watch until the grace in his angel stopped burning and his fever broke. At least, until the next one, whenever that would come.


	18. The Long Kiss Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before flying to New Orleans to collect a martyred soul for the Virgin Mary, Sam decides he can't go without telling Amina the truth about his past. He waits until they can be alone while Dean is looking after Cas to have the demon blood talk. But will Amina stand by him even after she knows he's an ex-blood junkie? Meanwhile, the instability in Cas' grace worsens through the healing process. His vessel is spiking fevers and he's losing control over his ability to smite. Is it really a good idea for the Winchester brothers to go on a hunt in New Orleans?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The middle section of this chapter is NC-17 but not the whole chapter. I switched from Dean POV to Sam POV. The Destiel relationship can’t be developed in such detail and then treat Sam like a secondary character. I feel it’s important to give multidimensional development to both the Dean/Castiel relationship and the Sam/Amina relationship to make the family unit stronger in the story. There is some Destiel at the end though.

Through the wall, Sam heard the pipes creak in Amina's bathroom. She finished her shower. Overwhelming dread settled in his stomach as he lay flat on his back in bed, his feet on the floor. Tonight was the night. He couldn't go to New Orleans without telling her the truth about his demonic history. Winchesters learned from a tender age that every hunt could be the last and he refused to go carrying that burden.

He allowed her time to put on her nightgown before making his trek across the hall to say good night. Their little routine had an old-fashioned quality to it, like the days when men declared their intentions through poetic letters and women wore eighty layers of clothes.

But Sam's body was getting frustrated. He didn't quite understand why the prospect of sleeping with her had him so nervous - unglued, even. He wanted to experience making love to her, of course, but the risk of loss nagged at him. If he made the ultimate expression of love, he knew that would be it for them. She would be _the one_ and the downfall would rip him apart all the more. Because that's how it always went for Sam and his lovers.

He tugged on black pajama pants riding low on his hips as he crossed the hall. With a quickened deep breath to steady his nerves, he knocked on her door and waited.

"Sam?" she guessed, muffled through the door.

"Yeah, it's me."

"It's unlocked."

An intoxicating cloud of warmth and femininity hit him as he came into her bedroom. She had tacked up floral wall hangings that resembled museum tapestries to hide what she deemed ugly, dull walls. Lamps cast a warm glow over the same sort of retro industrial furniture in the other bedrooms but it somehow looked more ladylike with her additions. Her bedspread resembled the embroidered roses of eighteenth century style with far too many pillows for one person. Women were that way. They liked being swallowed alive by their own pillows. A budding collection of beauty products neatly arranged on her dresser and books scattered on every surface, including the floor. She made the room look like a garden oasis, and he wondered if it was an unconscious attempt to recreate the gardens of Heaven.

Amina sat on the end of her bed, toweling the length of her wet, dark hair. She wore a pale pink nightgown made of some thin material that hugged her womanly shapes, cut at her mid-thigh, and distracted Sam from his real purpose. Even her toned legs looked appetizing in the golden lamp light.

"It smells like a florist in here," he teased.

She chuckled. “I bought candles. Honeysuckle, French tulips, and roses. Anything to mask the old musty smell." The towel fell on the bed beside her. She frowned. “You don't like it?"

"I'm a guy. I'm not supposed to like it," he replied, “but I do."

Her round face brightened again, yet she studied him as if she knew something ate at him too. “Are you nervous about the hunt? I guess it's been a little while for you. Almost a month, right?"

"Yeah, I'm not too worried. I've taken longer breaks." He had to get the show on the road. Tell her. _Tell her_!

Fidgeting with the drawstring around his waist delayed the moment. She began brushing through the snarls of her wet hair, much better at human grooming than when she first arrived. Sometimes he still brushed it for her, not because she needed help, but because he liked the prolonged closeness. Those would be the small pleasures he'd carry with him once they were separated, he decided.

Mentally, Sam kicked himself. Get it over with already! He knelt, his hands sliding along the lines of her hips. This was the sort of conversation that required gentility, clarity, and solid eye contact. With her seated on the bed and him kneeling in front of her, they nearly met eye to eye on an even plane. She smiled softly and grazed his cheek with folded fingers. He guided her by the wrist and brought those fingers to his lips.

"You seem sad," she whispered.

"Well, I have to tell you some stuff before I go. Some of it might be hard to understand. I don't wanna lie to you or keep secrets though."

It seemed she understood the weight of it. “Okay, just tell me plainly. I still have trouble with subtle human speech."

"Okay." Briefly, Sam looked away, took a breath, and composed a draft of what he wanted to say in his thoughts. When he looked back at her blue eyes, so expectant and understanding, he pressed through the fear. “You know I was chosen to be Lucifer's vessel, right? During the apocalypse. Dean was chosen to be Michael's. We were supposed to duke it out or whatever. Kill half the planet."

"I know. You stopped the end though. You sacrificed yourself."

"I did, yeah. There's more to it though." Unable to hold her eye contact, he went on. “I'm part demon. Azazel's blood is in me."

"I know," she said with the hint of a memory in her voice. “There was talk of the human boy with demon blood. I don't know that I ever gave it much attention. You know I had my duties. I was consumed with protecting the archives should we lose the war. But I know you're part … part demon."

Keep going, Sam. Don’t wuss out now. He kept himself on an even keel and nodded. “You said you loved me yesterday."

"I love you every day," she murmured.

Sam's eyes snapped shut and he allowed himself to mentally bathe in that sensation for a moment. His forehead came to rest on her collarbone and he felt her fingernails graze his scalp.

"What's the matter?" she pressed.

"I don't think you know everything I did." He pulled his eyes back to hers again. “I did horrible things. I got mixed up with a demon - Ruby. She manipulated me into using my psychic abilities for exorcisms. The whole time, I was trying to kill Lilith myself because Ruby kept telling me I was the only one who could do it. And part of building up my strength meant drinking demon blood."

Amina's body tensed and a subtle sense of her recoiling left him empty, but the truth had to be told.

"I did a lot and … and I got addicted. Like heroin addict, strung out kind of addicted. I lied to my brother, Cas, Bobby … everyone. I did whatever it took to get the next hit. Ruby just kept giving me more." He paused, breathing slow. “Everyone knows I killed Lilith and started the apocalypse, but I don't think … I don't think you know about my addiction problem." His face lowered and he waited for her to hit him, yell, or leave.

Stern, petite hands on Sam's naked shoulders pushed him back. He sat back on his haunches, silently watching Amina as she flew off the bed and stopped halfway to the door. The sight of her back turned on him jabbed knives into his gut, yet he honestly expected nothing less. Her shoulders drooped and her head tipped forward as she hugged herself around the chest.

The stillness in her presence and the indignant silence filling the room crushed him. He deserved it though. That was the kick in the head. He made those choices and he had to live with the ramifications for the rest of his life, which probably entailed people never really trusting him.

"Where is this Ruby demon now?" she probed.

"Dead," he replied without hesitation. “I held her and Dean killed her."

Amina shrugged. “Well, thank Mary for small miracles." She appeared to take a breath and muster strength. “Did you ... did you fornicate with the demon?"

"Mina—"

"—The truth, Sam."

He sighed hard, angry at himself. “Yeah. I slept with her."

That knowledge hit her which enough force that she slumped forward and braced her hand on a shelf. She blew a tight breath through her lips, neither jealous nor angry in the traditional sense. Disappointment, he guessed. The way one felt when they finally realized their hero wasn't such a _hero_ after all.

"It was the blood. I wasn't in my right mind. I would never have…" He shook his head. “I didn't love her. People do things they regret all the time under the influence. If I could take it all back…"

"I know. I do know that," she picked up his lost words. “Are you off the blood now?"

"Yeah. I haven't touched it in years. Not since I jumped into the pit."

Amina spun on her heels and faced him for the first time since he confessed. Something dulled the color of her eyes - a piece of her innocence lost that he couldn't give back, ever.  "I'm serious, Sam. You can't lie to me about this. If you drank more, I deserve to know." The firmness in her timbre softened just slightly. “I need to be able to trust you. Don't take that away from me."

"I'm not lying. I haven't touched it and I have no intention of touching it for the rest of my life. I promise you that," he emphatically replied.

Tiny wrinkles appeared across her brow as he wrestled with her own mind. A few sudden steps brought her back to the edge of her bed. She sat in the closeness they shared before he confessed, her hands lightly grazing the five o’clock shadow of his jaw.

"Swear on my life," she pleaded. “Swear on my life that you won't touch it again and I'll stand by you."

Sam's substantial hands swallowed hers and he took his time letting that sink into his mind, unwilling to make such promises lightly. “I swear on your life. I won't touch demon blood again. It was the worst mistake of my life. For my sake, I never want to go back there, but for your sake, I know I never will." He squeezed her hands, praying to whatever was out there that she would believe him.

Minutes passed as she contemplated the impasse in their relationship. He absently played with her fingers, unable to look her in the eye. It was one thing to be an abomination to Heaven and to nearly destroy his relationship with his brother, but to be her provider, protector, teacher, lover, and then damage her trust… it was unforgivable. He decided he'd simply have to kill himself before touching demon blood again. It took so long to rebuild everything with Dean alone, and the idea of risking it all with temptation again felt impossible. The nagging addiction still lived in him every day, the craving, the lust for the invincibility, but he fought it tooth and nail. Now he had a bigger reason to fight it.

"Okay," whispered Amina.

Sam's eyes lifted to hers. “Okay?"

"I'm here. It's you and me. The outcast, rejected angel and the demon blood addict." She scoffed. “This is going to end triumphant or tragic, but either way, I'm standing by yo—"

Enormous hands framed her round face and an unrelenting, grateful kiss swallowed the last of her words. She squeaked in surprise against his mouth but her powerful little hands squeezed his wrists, holding him there. Her soft tongue tasted of minty toothpaste, he vaguely recognized. Insistent pulling and toying with each other's lips soon ripened into fingers twisting in hair and muffled mews of her sweet voice.

The subtle smack of lips pulling apart opened her eyes as Sam's hands fell along her waist to the swell of her hips. He skimmed her thighs and hooked his hands around the back of her knees, stretching her legs apart. Then, with an arm around her waist, he tugged her, hitching up her nightgown as she dragged closer. The warmth of her thighs snugly fit around his waist and they stared at each other, naked chest pressed to full, silky clothed breasts. Fingertips traced the curves and dips of her face as he peered down at her.

"You're good for me, you know," he told her. "You keep me focused."

Amina formed a subtle smile and she nuzzled his neck. Her lack of ego would never really let her believe the affect she had on him, but he intended to make her happy as long as the fates allowed them to be together. And if the fates pushed them apart, well, they hadn't seen anyone fight like him.

"My brother was right to fight for free will." Her voice sounded far away and thoughtful even though her lips brushed his throat as she talked. "I used to think he'd been damaged or brainwashed by prolonged exposure to humans. We quarreled a few times. He said to me, 'You'll understand when it happens to you,' and that was the last time I saw him before he took God's power. I didn't know what he meant at all but everything he did was for Dean, misguided or not." Leaning back slightly, her eyes turned up to Sam's face. "I understood the day you opened the door at that motel. I don't feel like any of this was an accident. Something led me to you. Now I know the bad you've done and I still need you. That must be love, yes?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, nodding. "I don't know how any of it happened, but I'm glad it did."

Her hands brushed exploratory paths over the broad expanse of his defined chest. Years of running, fighting, working out, and trying to be healthy on the road built Sam a body that resembled ancient sculptures. Fists clenched, it took all of his self-control not to take her right there as her supple lips dotted velvety kisses along his collarbones. Rushing blood drummed through his ears and he groaned, quiet and low in his throat. Loose pajama pants did nothing to hide his growing arousal.

"You will be careful in New Orleans, won't you?" she murmured, looking up at him through her long, dark lashes.

"Promise," he said. His throat sounded dry and hoarse.

Amina grabbed his face and pulled him down to kiss her. He did so eagerly, fingertips getting to know her shapes and curves, along with the subtle sounds of pleasure she made. The lady knew how to fight possibly even better than Dean or him, she stored a vast wealth of heavenly knowledge in her mind, yet she delved into Sam's kisses and caresses with the innocence and curiosity of someone so naive.

"You've really never done this?" he asked considerately.

"No. I haven't. My vessel did. I mean Theresa Novak. So, this body isn't… you know… in tact." Her eyes turned to the side, mildly ashamed.

He curled a finger under her chin and made her look at him again. “This is _your_ body now. It's you. If you haven’t, then _you_ haven’t. It's okay."

Her cheeks filled out with her smile.

"Yes?" he asked, smiling back.

"Yes," she whispered.

Sam let out a huff of strange relief, having admitted to his darkest secrets, yet still having the love of a beautiful creature like her. His personal resistance dropped and his hands tangled in her hair. Their kiss consumed the space around them as if creating a black hole together. Her spine arched and pressed her body firmly against his, which shot an aching jolt through his groin. He ordered himself not to be rough with her, not to manhandle her the way he usually did with past women. There would be time for that. They had years.

His mouth drifted to the length of her jaw and a damp trail of kisses led to her ear. He tested the sensitivity of her skin, listening to restrained gasps here or there as he kissed her neck and throat. The thin straps of her nightgown rolled off her shoulders easily, followed by his lips tracing all of her lines.  He lifted the flimsy fabric over her body and tugged it over her head. Beauty, soft curves, imperfections, and endless flesh impressed his vision as he let the back of his folded hand fall along her throat and ghost over the untouched curve of her breast.

Gently, he nudged her back, palm over her heart. Her eyes questioned him but she followed his lead and fell back on the bed. That sight of her laid out entirely nude for him left a breath caught in his throat. His long frame bent over her, determined to touch every part of her with kisses. The scent of her soap filled his senses as his lips explored her abdomen, bringing out faint gasps of delight. She didn't seem to know that she didn't have to hold back. Sam being Sam, though, he decided it was his mission to shake the archivist loose from her restrictions. For him, she could be whatever she pleased.

Lower and lower, he nipped and sucked little pleasurable bruises into her skin until he crossed her hip and traversed her smooth thigh. Her hips rolled, pleading for something she may not have even understood yet, but her body certainly knew what she needed.

Sam closed his eyes and immersed himself in the provocative sounds spilling from her lips as his tongue worked along the juncture between her thighs. He knew she pursed her lips together hard, trying not to vocalize herself, but the subtle rhythmic bucking of her hips against his mouth increasingly turned erratic. Soon, she writhed beneath his expert lapping, nipping, and darting tongue until he had to hold her pelvis still. Breaking down her resolve, no matter how wrong she may have felt it was to moan in lust, became his greatest ambition.

"Oh Sam,  _Sam_ ," she panted, slowly losing the battle with her restraint.

And as Sam’s assault centered on the most sensitive, tight bundle of nerves, his tongue flicked rapidly. Time suspended and he didn't know how he lived so long without her. Her taste, her scent, her body heat, and her intimacy all seared into his brain like a brand.

Uneven gasping gave way to her body curling in exquisite, almost agonizing pleasure. Her resistance broke. It snapped like an overworked rubber band. Long, twisting, breathy moans erupted as she threw her head back against the mattress. Sam memorized every second of her first orgasm, crashing over the whole of her body until one of her hands unconsciously clawed at her hair. The clenching of her muscles finally let go, leaving her a trembling bundle of nerves on the bed. Rapid rising and falling of her chest brought a satisfied little smile to his face.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, legs heavy and rubbery with desire to fully possess her. She watched him wordlessly as she caught her breath. He tugged off his pajama pants and noticed how her eyes widened at the first glimpse of him completely exposed. The second he yanked his pants, his flushed red erection sprang free. It clearly stunned her, yet Sam thought she certainly had seen plenty of naked humans in her extensive history.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Sam murmured through a smirk as he climbed on the bed and lovingly pulled her legs around his waist. His smirk grew. "You look a little wrung out."

"I didn't know it felt..." Her voice trailed off into a whisper and intense emotion veiled her eyes. She clung to him, fingers tightly laced around his back.

"Shh, baby, I got you," he whispered, gathering her up in his arms.

Sam leaned on his elbows, knowing his weight could crush her, and he took his time. His kisses communicated private endearments that he never could share with anyone, except Jess. Even that chapter of his life felt peaceful for once. She would be happy knowing he found a woman who stood by him even while knowing the most regrettable parts of his personality. He kissed her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her swollen lips, and above all, he gave her body time to dictate when she was ready. It was so unlike him not to throw her against a wall and claim her, but a lady like that deserved a civilized man, not a barbarian.

He worshiped her. She had been a holy creature once upon a time, after all. Every part of her required worship and praise.

"I love you, Mina," he whispered between kisses. "Don't forget that, no matter what happens."

"Show me you love me. Make it impossible to forget," she whispered in return, drawing her leg up the side of his hip. "You're going to be gone for days, you know."

Sam's erection twitched in anticipation as if her voice itself caressed his entire length. As he nuzzled her neck and sucked the sensitive spot over her pulse, his hand snaked between them and lightly stroked the overly sensitive wetness of her sex. The touch made her eyelashes flutter in bliss and her lips fell open with a tiny moan. Perhaps it would always be her way to hold back in inhibited suppression until the moment her new soul exposed itself in all of its raw power to him.

Although her body was not in tact, Sam treated her like a virgin in every sense. He felt he owed her that courtesy, giving her that once in a lifetime experience. It required so much self-denial on his part that all of his muscles tightened and sharpened in the glowing lamp light.

He guided himself into her slowly, letting her savor the first taste of being fully claimed by a man. God, she felt so smooth and tight around his dick, he thought in heady, fragmented thoughts as his hips set a lazy pace. His mind blurred and his vision clouded with the jolts and aches of pleasure shooting through his body.

Body curling over her, Sam pressed his forehead to hers as their hips synced together, meeting and pulling apart at a strenuously matched, beautiful stride. Vaguely, he heard the bed frame hitting the wall somewhere in the back of his mind but he didn't care. Her passion surprised him as her fingernails scraped his shoulders and ribs. Soft womanly thighs tightened a possessive grip around his waist. She pulled him so deep that faint smacking sounds of their skin became as loud as their private pleadings and encouragements.

Sam felt her body tightening around him and he knew the cliff approached. The center of his world focused on their joined bodies, their hoarse moans tangled in the air. A fleeting moment of gratitude found him that she came when she did, mouth gaping and eyes clenched shut in a perfect explosion, because she overwhelmed his senses and he couldn't hold back.

"Oh yes," she breathed in an endless spiral. "Yes,  _yes_ ,  _Sam_!"

Abruptly, Sam's hips snapped roughly into her as came in a violent gush. His grip on her thigh tightened like a vice, holding him in the moment, though she whimpered. Was it pain? Pleasure? He drew out the moment as long as he could, eventually slowing to rest, careful not to completely collapse on her.

Neither of them spoke or even moved for a long time. Occasional fingertips traced invisible lines over naked skin damp with sweat, but the moment would have been shattered with words.

Sam rolled on his side and pulled her along so they faced one another, wrapped up in the other's limbs. Her dark hair was still wet from her shower and thoroughly tangled in their lovemaking. Tenderly, he tucked it behind her ear and cupped her cheek with a desire to memorize every detail of how she looked there. No other man could see her that way, naked and alive after a double orgasm, wet from her shower and wet with spent need for him. She was his completely.

"No regrets?" he asked after quite a long silence of calming.

"No," she answered.

He wanted to ask about her grace, whether any thoughts behind those blue eyes considered what to do. If she took it back and became an angel again, he wanted to know if she would still be capable of loving him the way Castiel loved Dean. They left it an open question the last time they touched it in the heat of an argument. Neither felt prepared to lose the other, but realistically, it could happen that way.

"You look sad again," Amina whispered.

Sam shook his head. "I'm okay." There was no point in bringing it up them and bursting the bubble. They had time to figure it out. Of course, another problem cropped up in his mind. He sat upright and an agitated hand raked through his tangled hair. "Shit.  _Shit_."

"Sam?"

"I forgot to grab a condom," he blurted, looking at her.

"Oh..." Slowly, she sat up as well. "You're referring to human reproduction."

"Yeah." Dark, cynical chuckles covered the word.

Amina's gaze fell to her lap and her fingers folded against her lips. Considerately, she thought about what might have happened, just as he thought about it. Her hand splayed over his bicep as they sat side by side, a supportive sensation greeting his concern. She gave no indication of whether she thought about the future at all, not that he really did. He'd grown accustomed to living day by day a long time ago.

"It's too late to undo what's done. I doubt conception occurred."

"It only takes one time," he replied. "It's too soon. I mean, if it happened, we'll make it work, but this isn't a good time. The war, your safety, Cas, living in a bunker. We haven't been together long enough. Too soon. Too soon."

"I know." Amina nodded in agreement. "Chances are nothing happened. Don't worry, Sam. We'll be more careful when you come home."

Sam took a breath and nodded too, pushing the possibility aside in his mind. He smiled, though somewhat nervously, and, with an arm looped around her waist, kissed the top of her head.

That night, Sam slept among the floral wall hangings and feminine bedspread. He looked entirely too big for her room but she wanted him to remain with her. They had never slept in the same bed and she took the opportunity to smash herself as close to his chest as possible. His mile-long leg fit between hers, making them look like two tangled up octopuses under the blankets.

By morning, it was impossible to decipher where Sam ended and Amina began, which, of course, made it harder for him to get up without waking her. The cell phone blared on her nightstand that he had retrieved from his room before going to sleep. His work alarm flashed on the screen. One more shift before getting on the plane that night.

He yawned and rubbed his face. Carefully, he peeled her off of him like peeling back a banana and slid out from under her arm. She stirred but never fully came to consciousness.

Across the hall in his own room, Sam put on his work clothes - ripped, worn out jeans and a white t-shirt to breathe in the heat. He stuffed his wallet in his back pocket and combed fingers quickly through his hair, though it naturally fell into place. Hopefully Dean was awake in the other bedroom to drive him to work, he thought absently as he went back to Amina's room. She lay on her stomach with her hands stuffed under her pillow and her blankets pulled to the middle of her back. Her hair spread recklessly across the pillow and one of her knees hitched up closer to her chest. She slept like she had too many limbs and didn't care where they landed.

"Baby," he murmured, kissing her cheek and giving her a second to wake. He rubbed the exposed skin of her back. "Baby, I gotta go to work."

"I'm not an infant," Amina slurred, her voice thick with sleep.

Sam chuckled. "It's a term of endearment."

"Okay..." She started drifting off again.

"Bye, baby." He kissed her cheek a second time.

Amina roused in a second wind and opened her eyes just enough to say one more thing. "I'll pack your things today. Bye,  _baby_." And she was gone again.

As Sam shut her in the bedroom, the strangest feeling of being looked after came over him. It wasn't a big deal, a woman packing his bag for a trip, but he was always used to women needing  _him_ to look after them, not the other way around. He didn't quite know what to do with that. No one taught him how to behave in a relationship, except, well, Jess. He owed her so much. She showed him how to be a man more than his family did, at least when it came to those real life things.

He rapped on Dean and Castiel's door. At least it sounded like there was movement in there instead of having to drag Dean out of bed by force. The door flung open but Dean didn't greet him. The older Winchester searched the room for his shirt.

"Morning," Sam said.

Dean muttered some unintelligible greeting. He bent over, bare chested, and Sam caught a glimpse of red, irritated burn marks along his inner forearm.

"What happened to you?"

Straightening up with his discarded shirt, Dean threw a haphazard gesture at Castiel.

"Good morning, Sam," the angel said.

"Morning, Ca--Hey! You're dressed! Nice shirt, man." His smile spread wide as he appraised Castiel sitting up in bed wearing a blue shirt, a flannel shirt over that in red, tan, and blue, and jeans sliced up to the knee to make room for his leg splints. Clearly, everything he wore belonged to Dean. "You feeling better today?"

"My vessel is healing," he said.

"What about you?" Being with Amina taught him there was definitely a big difference.

Castiel's head tilted slightly, appreciation in his eyes. "Pain, Sam. Burning, unstable fevers. I'm dressed now because..." He actually expressed frustration with a sigh. "I'm cold. Freezing now."

"Fever hit 103 last night before I got it to break," added Dean in a lowered tone, tense but in control.

Concern filled Sam. "You gonna be okay?"

"Eventually, yes. I hope."

He felt for the guy, yes, but feeling too much meant allowing Castiel's torture to rehash his own memories of being tortured in Hell. So he kept it at arm's length. Sam approached Castiel's side of the bed and patted him on the shoulder. Immediate pain ripped through his hand before he realized what happened, and in a bright burst of light, his body slammed into the wall.

"Ow,  _shit_!" he cursed, face gnarled up in pain. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you not to touch him," said Dean so very casually. He showed Sam the swollen, red, splotchy burn on his inner forearm and smirked. "Look. Twinsies."

"Twinsies? You're an idiot." Sighing, Sam shook his head and examined the burn forming on the palm of his hand into his fingers.

"My apologies, Sam. My grace is extremely unstable. It's best if no one touches me today." Shame lowered Castiel's eyes to his hands fidgeting in his lap. It resembled the way he looked so childlike in the institution whenever conflict arose. "I hope I didn't burn you as badly as I burned Dean."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said in an endearing tone, winking at him.

"Yeah, Cas, it's not like you can help it," Sam agreed. He shook his hand as if it might relieve the pain. "Just tell Amina before she tries to touch you, okay?"

"I will." Castiel nodded but still hesitated in looking at him. For an angel who could smite with the touch of a finger, he certainly took it hard when he unintentionally hurt people. The burn wasn't even that bad.

"C'mon," Dean urged, "you're gonna be late. No suspicion. We got a stupid plane to catch tonight."

Laughing, Sam waved at Castiel as they left, saying, "Hey, Dean, I wouldn't call a plane stupid if it's gonna carry your ass thirty five thousand feet above ground."

"Hey, fuck you, Sammy!"

Laughter got louder. "Wouldn't Cas get jealous?"

"I dunno. Let's ask Amina. How's that wall holding up?" Cocky smirking creased Dean's lips as they strolled downstairs.

Sam blinked and stumbled over his own shoe. "Wait, you heard?"

The laughter in Dean felt deep and genuine. "Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You're the clueless puppy I never wanted but I love ya anyway."


	19. Back in the Saddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters are in New Orleans. They've been sent by the Virgin Mary to collect a soul required in working a spell to turn her from angel to goddess, which also means leaving Cas and Amina in Kansas since Cas is too injured to move. As they begin the investigation at the infamous LaLaurie mansion, Dean realizes he's gotten a little rusty with hunting. They've been instructed to collect one of the unfortunate slaves still haunting the house because, as they've been told, all enslaved humans are automatic martyrs. All seems to be going as planned until Madame LaLaurie attacks the brothers. Are they going to survive taking a soul of one of her unfortunate slaves?

"Afternoon, Miss…" Dean cocked his head and smiled. Heat hung thickly in the bar even though it was allegedly air conditioned. He regretted wearing the cheap suit but he had to sell the part.

The woman leaned over the bar, clearly suspicious. “Karlene DeSoto." She squinted. “You sellin' somethin'? 'Cause we ain't buyin' here."

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm Eddie Clayton with Orleans Parish Real Estate Partners," he said as he extended his hand over the bar. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss DeSoto."

"Likewise," Karlene said, loosely shaking his hand, “but you ain't from Orleans Parish."

A half-smile answered the bartender but he knew to divert the subject immediately. “You're right. I just moved here from Kansas." He shifted his posture, resisting the urge to pull his tie loose in the sticky heat. “Listen, I wondered if I could ask you some questions about the place next door."

"The LaLaurie place? What you Yankees care about that?" She strode to the other end of the bar as she spoke and popped a beer bottle open for a customer.

A thin sheen of sweat appeared to cover everyone there, even the whole of New Orleans, but the locals seemed to go about their business without the slightest discomfort. Karlene wore a blue tank top so thin that he could see her blue lacy bra underneath it, although it did little to really hold his interest anymore. Her dirty blonde hair sat in a messy knot on top of her head and a black waitress apron barely covered her tiny denim shorts. Whether she dressed that way for the tips or the heat didn't seem to be exclusive concepts.

Live music poured in from the street outside despite it only being mid-afternoon. The bar wasn't crowded by any means. He expected the real crowds came later, as if the city never really awoke until the sun went down for the night. The overall slow, lazy stroll of the entire city could have intoxicated Dean if he wasn't so focused on the job.

"I've got a client, see," Dean said as he leaned an elbow on the bar, “and this client doesn't wanna invest in the property without a little investigation first."

"What kind of investigation?" She seemed to know already without saying so.

"The history, I'd say. What kind of people owned it before?"

Karlene tossed her head back in laughter. She filled water glasses from a large glass pitcher. “You talkin' 'bout the actor or the doctor?"

"What actor?"

"Nicholas Cage owned the place for a little while before he lost his mind and his money or whatever happens to those big Hollywood types. Place been abandoned since he up and left. Nobody ever hangs around long." She smiled knowingly as she moved on to filling orders for shots.

"Why do you think that is?" Dean helped himself to bar nuts.

"You Yankees don't have a damn clue 'bout our city," she said. “You got everything you can see in the open, but then you got a whole other life goin' on underneath that you can't see. Outsiders come down here buyin' up our mansions thinkin' they found some diamond in the rough, but y'all ain't ready for the folks who _really_ own our houses. You best make sure your client knows he's a guest, not a homeowner."

"Interesting," hummed Dean, letting her talk if she pleased.

Karlene nodded. “Dr. LaLaurie's slaves own that place now. That's all anybody needs to know 'bout it."

Pausing, Dean pretended to be mildly surprised. “You mean ghosts."

"That I do."

"You ever seen one?"

She scoffed. “Who hasn't 'round here?" In spite of her sass and bravado, a cloud fell over her features as she thought of it. “I saw the little girl jump."

"The little girl?"

"Madame LaLaurie had a girl brushin' her hair one mornin' and story goes the girl hit a knot, which hurt la Madame, who then went after the girl with a whip," explained Karlene in a peculiar reverent tone. “Some say the girl jumped off the balcony. Some say la Madame tossed her. Either way, the girl got killed for a knot in that white woman's hair. So a couple months ago, I’m walkin' by after closin' up, right? I heard a scream, so I looked and this fuzzy picture of a black girl flung off the balcony like a rag doll." She shook her head, a hand planted on her hip. “That girl disappeared before she hit the ground, Mr. Clayton."

"Sounds awful," Dean said, though in actuality, he thought it sounded promising for the job.

"It ain't even scratchin' the surface. Evil's in that place. All the torture, the fire…" Emotion dulled her eyes. “You tell your client he best run from this place. Nobody can stand to live there."

A dark shadow filled the bar's doorway so completely it could only be Sam's massive frame clothed in a suit. The brothers made eye contact and nodded at one another, a mutual signal that each of them found information. Sam tapped a file folder. Dean held up a finger to say he needed another minute.

He knew she edged on being pushed too far but, as he popped another beer nut in his mouth, he tried one more. “What sort of torture went on there? You mean the slaves got tortured?"

Karlene's eyes flashed on him. “I can't talk about it, Mr. Clayton."

"Really?" Dean’s head tilted in confusion. “Didn't all this happen like two hundred years ago? Why can't you talk about it now?"

"La Madame," she whispered. “La Madame hears all bad things spoken of her and she follows people. She still tortures. You'd be hard pressed to find any N'Orleans native willin' to speak of the torture out loud. All you Yankees comin' down here. You keep stirrin' up things that need to stay dead."

"Okay." Dean nodded and knew when to pull back his questioning. He offered his hand again. “Thank you for your time, Miss DeSoto."

"You come back when you're off work, hear? I'll feed you gumbo and oysters so good, you'll wanna slap your momma." She shook his hand. A smile appeared and she returned to her Southern brand of people pleasing as if talking about ghosts of tortured slaves never happened.

"Thanks. I will." He smiled in return and her eyes sparkled of flirtation as he left. Completely committed to a man and women still flirted. He guessed that would always happen, not that he didn't find women attractive. Commitment to Castiel overrode any impulses.

Outside, Sam and Dean leaned against their rental car and compared notes.

"This might get a little sticky," Dean said. "It's not just the slaves in that house. Seems Mrs. LaLaurie still rules the roost and she's a mega bitch."

"Yep, I know," Sam said as he consulted his file folder. "Sightings have been recorded all the way back to the 1880s. Nobody really knows when she died. After a kitchen fire in 1834 exposed the bodies of gruesome tortured slaves up in the top floor, the doctor and his wife escaped to New York first and then Paris. Nobody knows what happened to them after that. Slave ghosts started appearing right away but it wasn't until the 1880s that people started seeing Mrs. LaLaurie. Violent manifestations, physical interaction, blah, blah, blah."

"Sounds like she's holding all the slaves hostage still," guessed Dean.

"Could be," Sam replied. "What now?"

The older Winchester stood from the car hood and climbed into the driver's seat. "We grab some grub. We wait until dark. We go investigate." He smiled. Damn if he didn't smile like a fool.

"What's with you?" Bewilderment with a hint of condescension narrowed Sam's eyes as he climbed in the passenger seat.

"Back in the saddle, Sammy." Dean's smile grew into an exuberant thing. "Hunting's good for the soul."

*****

"Shit! I'm getting too old for this! Where'd you go, Sammy?"

Dean teetered over the edge of a fifteen foot wrought iron fence, completely stuck. It was the only access to the back courtyard of the LaLaurie place and he realized he was a little too out of shape. Sam's flashlight glowed across the courtyard directly into Dean's eyes, which nearly made him fall off the fence. He braced his hands on the iron spokes and flipped his legs over the top. The landing wasn't graceful, and Sam's laughter rang out somewhere in the courtyard, but at least he got into the place.

"Little rusty, are ya?" teased Sam, working on the back door's lock.

"Shut up, dick," he muttered.

The door popped open with little resistance. Old doors were ridiculously easy to break into, thank Mary, and the brothers piled into the rear of the LaLaurie mansion.

Dean froze momentarily. Did his thoughts just thank Mary?

Focus. He pushed it aside and spread out from his brother, pointing his flashlight into the dusty house. No furniture, of course, but a few pieces covered in sheets had apparently been left behind. The only sign of recent inhabitants appeared to be meticulously restored paint, wallpaper, woodwork, and floorboards. It certainly didn't resemble the most haunted house in New Orleans.

"Nothing on the EMF," Sam reported as they wandered through the main floor.

"What? Nothing?" He peered into the dining room.

Waving the rectangular box, Sam moved ahead in the central hall and shook his head. "Yep. Nothing down here. This thing should be off the charts with all the lore." He produced another EMF detector from his pocket and tossed it at Dean. "Let's split up. You take the basement."

"No, no," Dean hesitated. "C'mon. A couple of white dudes outnumbered by who knows how many pissed off dead slaves?"

The corner of Sam's mouth turned up, amused, but his eyes verged on condescension. Again. "Have you lost your nerve? Kissy kissy with the angel make you go soft?"

A 'fuck you' expression shot down the hall at Sam harder than a gunshot. Dean switched on the EMF detector and stalked off to the basement door he'd memorized on the blueprints. He heard Sam's receding chuckles as they went their separate ways, pissed that he probably _had_ gone a little soft. Still, he shined his flashlight ahead and made his way downstairs.

Halfway down the steep basement stairwell, the needle jumped on the EMF detector. He studied the reading and slowed his pace, carefully training his eyes on the darkness below. The detector stuffed in his pocked and a handgun loaded with salt rounds yanked from his back waistband. Both brothers ordered each other beforehand not to gank any ghosts there if they could help it, unless it was in self-defense. The martyred soul had to be perfectly in tact and neither of them knew what kind of damage the salt rounds did.

Movement caught Dean's eye. His vision narrowed like a target caught in the crosshairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, engulfed in impenetrable darkness.

Blackness solidified in the corner near an old pantry shelf. The glow of white brightened the back of the basement and Dean froze, not of fear, but of not wanting to scare it away. Slowly, the black shapeless cloud undulated into a humanoid shape as crystallized clouds puffed from his mouth. The temperature dropped, an instant burst of frozen air as the figure drained the energy around it to manifest.

A woman. Old. Dean squinted until he made out her features. Ripped fabric covered her in an alleged nineteenth century dress with a white apron, but she looked so ragged that he took her for a transient looking for a place to sleep at first. He pointed the column of light up and down over her her figure, stopping at the metallic glint around her waist and another around her ankle. Shit, he thought, realizing even as a ghost, she was chained to the shelf.

"Git out," she bellowed in multiple frequencies. "Git out 'fore mis'ress fin' you here."

Dean edged closer, gun pointed at her chest. "You do know you're all dead, right? Slavery's over, lady."

"She gon' kill you, suh," the ragged old woman repeated more urgently.

Unable to discern if she understood him, Dean decided to go ahead with it anyway. Being chained to the shelf, or at least believing she was chained, unfortunately worked to his advantage. He wrestled his guilt as he crouched, slinging a bag off his shoulder and digging for the jar. The spell scribbled on crumpled notebook paper spread open on his thigh as he planted the jar as close to the slave as he dared. He unscrewed the lid and then shined his flashlight on the notebook paper.

" _Nah-row-hah-sey-lo-dah-ah_ ," he began reciting the Enochian spell.

The ghost's lips curled back in a painful grimace. Her chin jerked up and she growled low and wolf-like as thin tendrils of her soul's wounded, dim light pulled into the jar. Dean looked up cautiously but couldn't stop the spell's incantations.

Thumbs and dragging sounds pounded on the floor over Dean's head. His mind flashed to Sam, the only thing that could have made him stop the soul collection. Though his Enochian incantations continued for a moment, an abrupt rolling, dragging, and a loud final thud stopped him. He realized it came from the general space of the main stairwell leading to the second floor.

The second Dean's brain made the decision to abandon the slave ghost to go check on his brother, a crack in the air behind him whipped a long gash diagonally across his back. He cried out and the chained old lady bellowed an unearthly moan, eyes huge and terrified.

Spinning on his feet, Dean ran into a crazed, wild-eyed pale figure with a mess of dark hair, dressed in old-fashioned silk. He caught the woman by the wrists and realized she brandished a horse whip. She screeched, clearly out of her mind aside from being fucking dead, and an arm flung and clawed the side of his face. He shoved her back in a weak moment of the scuffle and pointed the gun squarely at her chest.  _Boom_. The ghost evaporated into a distant echo of a scream.

Dean flipped around but found the corner with his partially captured soul as empty and dark as if she'd never been there.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

It all had to be done again. As he stooped and packed up the jar and the spell again, the burning whip mark across his back felt wet and his shirt stuck to the wound. Crazy fucking ghost whipped him and he bled all over perfectly good clothes.

"Sammy?" he barked upstairs.

No response.

"Sammy!"

Still nothing.

Dean flung his bag over his shoulder and flew upstairs. His flashlight jiggled and provided no real help as he ran, but he knew his brother didn't respond for a reason. A bad reason.

The main floor of the LaLaurie mansion greeted Dean with eerie silence so deep that even the ghosts seemed to hide. Nothing beeped in his pocket from the EMF detector and he certainly didn't hear his brother's heavy boots walking around anywhere. Quickly, Dean swept room after room with his gun poised to blast salt rounds at anything that moved. Nothing. He couldn't find Sam and he struggled to fight the bile churning in his stomach.

As Dean passed a darkened corridor, a black lump stretching up several steps along a narrow, unadorned stairwell caught his attention. As he approached, the shapeless figure clarified into Sam sprawled on his back, unmoving and one of his legs pointed up the stairs. He had obviously fallen. Or been pushed.  The older brother dropped to his knees and put the gun down within reach.

"Sammy? Sammy!" He slapped his brother. "C'mon, Sammy!"


	20. A House Divided Against Itself Cannot Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are not willing to give up on collecting a martyred soul for the Virgin Mary's spell. They come up with a new plan for their last night in New Orleans. It's do or die time and they both know it. They split up, Dean at the LaLaurie mansion and Sam at St. Louis Cemetery Number One, where they both try to not only collect the necessary soul but free all of the slave ghosts trapped in that house as well. But as the violent Madame LaLaurie attacks Dean for the second time, he finds his life in very real danger. Meanwhile, in Kansas, Amina watches over Castiel in his recovery. They have a revealing conversation about the changes he might go through if he chooses to fall. The war in Heaven escalates as well, killing thousands in China. Can the Winchesters and the Virgin Mary's angels win the war or is it a lost cause?

A former angel cast out of Heaven sat cross-legged on a bed beside her brother, an angel hunted for loving a human man. They might have been the weirdest pairing on the planet, except there in perfectly human bodies, they looked like any brother and sister fighting over the television.

"I have no interest in watching this film," Castiel said, leaning on the shelf behind the bed like a headboard.

Amina glanced incredulously at him. "Why not?"

"I was there. I have no need to see it again, especially performed in a rather inaccurate manner," he replied.

"Maybe you were there but I was buried in the library, thanks to you. I missed all of this. I need to catch up on the social and psychological aspects of human events." She grabbed the remote control back, careful not to touch him directly. After the instability in his regenerating grace burned both Dean and Sam the morning they left, she couldn't risk touching him until he felt more stable.

"Then perhaps you should watch documentaries, not  _The Other Boleyn Girl_ ," he quipped with a faint smirk.

Sighing, Amina leaned on her hand and wistfully observed the scene playing out between Eric Bana and Scarlett Johansson. "But documentaries don't typically feature men like him." The camera closed in on Scarlett's face and Amina's eyebrow arched. "Or her. She's beautiful."

"Oh," Castiel said as if a realization dawned on him. "You have no preference."

"No. Do you?"

"No. All humans are beautiful. I had wondered if an orientation arrived upon falling, if perhaps it was an acquired human trait like gaining a soul," he confided. "Anna was the only fallen angel I knew in any close proximity."

Something hidden lingered behind the way he spoke and Amina thoughtfully glanced back at him over her shoulder. "I was cast out forcefully, but I doubt I'd have a clear sexual orientation even if I had fallen voluntarily. I don't think any angels have an orientation after becoming human, at least when we remember being angels. We love the soul, thoughts, and deeds, not the gender."

"Would you have formed an amorous attachment to Sam if he had been, for example, a Samantha?"

"Yes," she said unequivocally. "Brother, you worry too much. I know what you're thinking. I'm telling you - if you fall, you'll still love Dean. It won't disappear only to be replaced by raging heterosexual urges. You may have those too but they'll be nothing like what you feel for him. He's your one human love, remember. Your bond broke the veil and he's the only human who can see your wings and your halo. You've shared your grace with him. It won't change whether you remain among your own kind or fall among humanity. I know that just as I know taking back my grace won't erase Sam from here." Her hand pressed to her heart.

Castiel fell silent, considering the points she made. When he spoke again, he sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "I do know that I prefer this male vessel to my previous female vessels. I've told Dean my gender makes no difference to me but I truthfully prefer being male."

"And I prefer being female." She shrugged. "So? This is our individuality. You taught me that."

"It's easier for you to say that, sister. You're free of your shackles. My grace is still here." His large hand gingerly touched his chest as if it caused him pain. "It burns every minute since my escape. It's calling me, pulling even, to obey and assimilate again. It's not me. I know that. It's beginning to feel like a parasite."

Understandingly, Amina nodded and reached back to squeeze his hand that rested on the bed. She knew he hadn't spoken to Dean about those things. No matter how close the bond deepened between her and Sam, or Castiel and Dean, the Winchester brothers could never fully understand the weight of things pressing on the angel siblings. Only other angels could possibly grasp it.

"Maybe it's time for you to let go of the parasite," she said gently.

"Are you going to put your parasite back in your body?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "It calls to me, but so does Sam."

Now it was Castiel's turn to nod understandingly. "Even if we choose our own kind, I doubt we'll ever truly be welcome again. Mother loves us but we don't yet know how her other angels feel." He stared at the television again. "It may simply be too late for us to have a place at home."

"Then at least we have each other, and a family here," she said.

*****

"How's your head?" Dean questioned for the fifth time that day.

"Hurts like a bitch, just like last time you asked. I'm sure a huge goose egg's sticking out back there. I'm fine. Hate getting knocked out though. I'm sure I lose brain cells when that happens." He popped a fluffy, sugary beignet in his mouth, seated across from Dean under the enormous green and white striped awning the Cafe du Monde. "Maybe we should take out the lady of the house before trying to suck a martyr into that jar."

Dean shook his head and slurped a mouthful of coffee. "If she's holding all those ghost slaves hostage, ganking her will just send them all floating into the city. We can't catch one like that."

"You want to," the younger brother broke into a disbelieving chortle, "you want to keep them enslaved?"

"Just long enough to get the soul we need. Then we'll gank the torture wench and set her victims free. Don't worry, Sammy. We'll make it right but we _are_ at war here. We're gonna have to swallow our morals for a minute to get what we need. There's a bigger picture." A quick hand swiped a beignet off Sam's plate, having devoured his own. "These things are delicious. I gotta figure out how to make 'em. Like little mouthfuls of sugary bliss."

A tall stretch of a dark-skinned man with a fedora tilted to the side began playing the saxophone outside the cafe. People strolling by occasionally dripped tips into his instrument case.

"Then we need another angle besides going in blind, salt guns blazing," answered Sam as he consulted his laptop. "I'm not getting attacked by that thing again if I can help it. She's much stronger than a ghost should be. How's your back?"

"Hurts." Dean made a sour face but he never approved of showing more pain than that. A long stretch of bandages covered a bloody diagonal mark left by a ghost's horse whip. He tried not to reflect on what the pain being an actual slave involved if that one whip lash nearly knocked him to the floor. Thinking of slaves at all brought the angels to mind. He needed to stay focused for them. For Castiel and Amina. "I thought we'd try ... you know ... talking."

Sam peered at him over the laptop. "Talking to ghosts?"

"It might go easier if we convince one to go with us, to free all the slaves. Technically, we're not lying." He knew Sam saw the entire idea skeptical at best. "Sammy, I got a gut feeling on this one."

Still not sold on it, Sam's chest filled with a deep breath. "All right," he eventually agreed. "How do we do it?"

"We need a name. I know one either jumped or got pushed off the third floor. That one's our best bet."

"On it." Sam's fingers already flew on the keyboard.

*****

Castiel slipped into his garden, as he called it. He hadn't done it in a couple of days and Amina had hoped he wouldn't need it anymore, that he was over the worst of it. His features smoothed like a sleeping baby despite no angel actually requiring sleep. Somewhere within his consciousness, he wandered in the garden he built for himself where his grace, an unstable nuclear reactor, could regenerate in peace.

Respectfully quiet, Amina sat at his bedside, cooling the fever in his vessel by continuous passes of a wet washcloth. She'd gotten some of the soothing medication into him before he drifted off, and now she waited for it to work. The handmaidens would have to bring more in the next few days if he didn't heal quicker. At least she could touch him again without being burned. Improvement was improvement.

"You'll be okay, brother," she whispered, not knowing if he heard. "Rest. Dean will be home tomorrow night, you know."

She checked his temperature with the electronic thermometer just the way Dean instructed and, after the beep, read 101.3 on the screen. It dropped considerably since the steady 103 fever he ran the previous days. Perhaps being a healer was indeed her true purpose as a human.

Her instinct to pray and give thanks to Mary rose up in her chest until she remembered they'd been cut off from their mother. Isolation crept over her like a black shadow, nearly making her cry, but the television in the background distracted her. An ever-present hand remained draped over Castiel's chest as she turned toward the reporter offering the news to the masses.

"We interrupt this program for a special report. Devastation rocks eastern China today as a 9.1 magnitude earthquake causes landslides, collapsed buildings, and multiple tsunami warnings throughout the region. Thousands may be feared dead."

The wind knocked out of Amina as she switched off the television. The earthquake added to the freak hurricanes and tornadoes in different parts of the world. She knew the war escalated dramatically if the bleed-through from Heaven erupted in a ferocious earthquake on Earth. Fearfully, she wished for some reliable news. And even though Mother Mary couldn't hear her, she bent her head in prayer. The most earnest appeals lifted heavenward for her mother to fight with everything she had. The taste of freedom demanded that she never return to oppressive servitude. She'd rather die.

As Castiel lay peacefully in bed, though the sweat of breaking a fever coated his skin, Amina fumbled with the cell phone they shared.

"Hello?" Sam's voice interrupted the ringing.

"Hi, Sam," she greeted, trying to sound upbeat.

"Hey, baby. How's it going up there?"

Amina closed her eyes. "Okay, I guess. I'm watching films with Castiel on his new television. He's resting now."

"His garden?"

"Yeah." She switched the phone to her other hand and rubbed her brother's arm. "Is the hunt going well?"

"Last night was a bust. I got knocked out and Dean got hit with a whip."

"What?" Alarm heightened her tone.

"Long story. I'll tell you when I get home. I'm just walking around a cemetery looking for a grave now. Looks like a salt and burn kind of night for me. We've got a better plan this time. Kinda do or die, I guess." He trailed off as he walked - she could hear it - and he whispered as he apparently read headstones to himself. Then he refocused attention on her. "Baby, you okay?"

"Yeah," she replied in only partial truth. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I actually miss that strange habit of the way you call me baby."

*****

Something gritty and resilient about New Orleans at night, Dean observed as he walked alone from his motel to the LaLaurie place. Once people got away from the tourist trap of the French Quarter, it was one of those cities that he suspected would fit him like a glove. It certainly wasn't moonlight and magnolias. The purity of the streets struck him in a similar way that the purity of Purgatory struck him.

The mansion loomed ahead on the corner of the block. Next door, the bar patrons had such a good time that he knew it would be just as easy to hop the wrought iron fence and break in unnoticed as it was last night. As he climbed the fence, the lash mark along his back stretched in pain as if it might rip and bleed, but he ignored it. Pain was temporary.

"You in place, Sammy?" he spoke to his phone on speaker.

"Yep," his brother's voice fed through the phone. "I'm about a third of the way through digging."

"Okay. I'm going in now." Dean clipped the phone to his jeans pocket and left the line open, allowing Sam to hear the progress.

Adopting an unguarded posture, Dean slowly ambled along the courtyard path. Quickly, he took stock of his surroundings and allowed his eyes to adjust to the shadows. This time, he refused to be surprised by the lady Frankenstein brandishing a horse whip.

He cleared his throat. "Is Lia here?" Waiting, he glanced up to the third floor from the place where he knew she had either jumped or been pushed to her death. Only the wind rustled the trees. "Lia, you don't have to be afraid. I'm Dean Winchester. I'm here to take you away from this place. You never have to face a beating again. C'mon Lia, are you listening? I know you're here."

Nothing happened as Dean strolled along, except his shoulders shrugged in his shirt. For such a sticky, hot city, a chill brushed his skin as if he didn't wear anything at all.

"Lia? Come on out and talk to me," he pressed in a firmer voice.

Scurrying overhead caught his attention. His brain jumped to a loose animal like any rational brain would, but as he stopped his lazy ambling through the courtyard, his sharp eyes shifted upward. A white haze darted across the roof with a darker lavender haze in hot pursuit. Wispy white fog materialized into the glowing image of a dark-skinned girl of about twelve-years-old, wearing two braids and a long white dress. She spun, a terrible grimace of horror painted on her face, and she thrust her hands out as if trying to stop the other figure from coming any closer.

"Lia?" he called out but the girl didn't seem aware of his presence.

Dean knew the other figure was Delphine LaLaurie before she ever fully materialized since he'd been on the receiving end of her rage the previous night. The hateful woman's stringy dark hair flew about her face with gray streaks that seemed to glow their own light. Her mouth sneered in menacing snicker as she curled her whip in the air. The sick bitch took pleasure in it!

"Hey!" barked Dean as he grabbed his gun. "Back off!"

Madame LaLaurie peered down three floors at Dean on the ground. She cracked her whip threateningly at Lia, which brought a bellowing scream from the depths of her poor lost soul. It echoed, macabre and chilling, through the night air. In seconds, Dean fired a salt round at the woman in the same instant that Lia jumped. The LaLaurie woman disintegrated in a puff of lavender as the white streak of little girl flung to the ground, landing with a sickening thump despite not being made of flesh and bone anymore.

The slave girl's innocent face, still plump with baby fat, sickened Dean as he approached. She reenacted her death each night for nearly two hundred years, never freed from the torture of her last moments. On the ground, her limbs landed as if she'd spread her arms and welcomed death. Her head bent sideways with a clearly broken neck. A trickle of phantom blood leaked from her ashen blue lips and a chunk of her temple splattered outward across the stone walkway.

She was already dead though. Dean reminded himself of that fact, licking his dry lips, and talking himself down from fear. He stepped within a few feet of the slave ghost and lowered to his knees.

"Lia?"

Only the silent stillness of a repeatedly reenacted death answered him for the longest time. He heard faint rustling on the phone and remembered that Sam listened in on everything as he dug the grave at St. Louis Cemetery Number One. Dean took a breath and tried again.

"Lia, I'm Dean. Lemme help you escape," he said as gently as his voice could muster in the tense circumstances.

She didn't respond still, merely lying there in her death pose. He decided this might be his only opportunity, so he slung the bag off his shoulder and set up the jar again. As he unfolded the crumpled notebook page with the spell scribbled on it, though, Lia's almond brown eyes darted to his face. Nothing else about her body moved. The unnatural stillness made her sudden eye contact all the more unnerving, but he refused to show a breath of fear.

"It's gonna be o--"

Twisting, disjointed limbs came to life on the girl. Her arms bent backwards and her joints crackled and popped loudly as the jerking motions slowly brought her upright. It looked as if someone pressed rewind on her fall. Her head whipped back so hard that Dean thought she would be beheaded until she stood upright.

"The missus whip'd you too," her tragic voice surmised.

Dean realized she sensed it on him in the way he moved. He went with it. "Yeah, she got me last night."

Glistening tears spilled from the girl's eyes as she stared at Dean. Her head flung back, pointing her anguished scream to the black, cloudless New Orleans sky.

"Lia," he tried again, pulling her focus back to him, "you have a chance for freedom if you come with me. You can be the one to free so many others too. I was sent here by... by..." Well, they were in a Catholic city. He gave it a shot. "I was sent here by the Blessed Virgin to free all of you but you have to come with me right now."

Lia stared at him, head tilting quickly like a curious bird. The dark circles around her eyes and the ashen blue quality of her lips looked ghastly alone, but the awful tear streaks and bloody head wound gave her the most terrifying appearance. Dean focused on her eyes and steeled himself, not that he was afraid of her directly. That appearance on a child made him sick and recalled to mind so many other glimpses of child abuse in his life.

The girl crossed herself, touching her forehead, her chest, and each of her shoulders. He knew he struck a nerve then with the shot in the dark that she had been Catholic in life, or at the very least, practiced the common hybrid of Catholicism and Voodoo in Louisiana.

"You an angel?" she asked.

Dean bit his cheek to keep himself from laughing. "No. Not an angel."

"Saint?"

"Nope. I'm just a man."

Her eyes narrowed. "You gon' sell me South?"

Uncertain of what that meant, he shook his head.

Her eyes darted to the house. "Missus be killin' folks who runs away."

There came the sticky part. Dean had hoped she understood her own death but she clearly thought she was still alive. It was common enough, a soul so traumatized by the manner of death that it got stuck in that last day of life on repeat forever, or until something like a hunter intervened. He considered whether it was the right time to tell her or not, but if he didn't, he'd have to take her soul by force. He set that aside as the last possible option.

"Lia," he began carefully, "Madame LaLaurie can't kill you anymore. Honey, you're already dead. You're a ghost. You're the most special kind of ghost because you can help so many others have their freedom. The Blessed Virgin chose you special."

If it was at all possible for her deathly pallor to drain of even more color, she certainly did with that revelation. He looked closer and realized the draining pallor was actually Lia going translucent. The garage far behind her bled through her face and shoulders. Trauma glazed her large, dark eyes and she took a step backwards from Dean.

He extended his hand. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. I need you to be brave right now." A little honesty wouldn't hurt, he decided, pressing his hand to his chest. "Look, I'm scared too. This ain't no picnic. I know what kind of hell you've lived with, but I can be brave if you're brave with me. I'm gonna protect you, okay? I promise."

Lia's traumatized expression softened. He knew he might have won the battle and extended his hand to her once more.

Abruptly, the slave girl's eyes shifted behind him and she screamed in painful, inhuman frequencies. It sounded like the rawest form of terror, like an animal cornered in its death throes.

"No! Don't!" Lia screamed.

Dean had no time to spin. The burn of the whip cut into his flesh. One lash across the back of his shoulders. A second lash the opposite direction across his kidneys. Madame LaLaurie expertly cut a crosshatch pattern into his back, making his mind flash on an old photograph he'd seen in high school of a slave displaying thick scars over the entirety of his back from being whipped that way. A scream caught in his throat as he struggled to spin and grab the horse whip from her.

"Dean?" Sam's voice shouted through the phone. "Dean!"


	21. Voodoo Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last shot. Last chance. Dean has to collect a martyred soul at the LaLaurie mansion, which was a den of slave torture in the nineteenth century. The mistress of the house refuses to go down without a fight. Not only is Dean simply trying to survive ghost attacks but he has to convince the soul of Lia, a murdered slave, to go with him. If he fails, the Virgin Mary won't have everything she needs to work her spell of transformation from angel to goddess, and in turn, free the angels. Can he accomplish the impossible?

Blood soaked the back of Dean's shirt. He'd never heard a ghost scream in fear for _his_ life either, but Lia did, probably because she finally understood he was her one shot at freedom. It peeled the air and ripped his eardrums.

The hunter flung on his back and took a couple of lashes from Madame LaLaurie's horse whip before he got the shot off. Growling curled back his mouth as the lash cut the flesh of his chest. Blindly, he cocked the handgun and blasted Madame LaLaurie straight through the head. A scream of rage dissipated into the night air.

"Dean! What the hell is going on!" Sam screamed through his cell phone.

"I'm okay! Keep digging, Sammy!"

Dean staggered to his feet, expecting to see Lia long gone, but she stood by silent and wide-eyed. The child ghost seemed frozen by fear, yet where she had drained to translucency solidified again. Blistering erupted all over his back and he struggled to stay upright as if the cracks into his body shoved the air right out of him. He didn't know if he could find the strength to carry out the spell. There wasn't much time. Soon Madame LaLaurie would be back with a vengeance for all of them.

"We gotta hurry before she comes back." he said to Lia, out of breath. "Do you trust me?"

The slave girl scoffed. “I don' trus' no white man."

"I'm not what you think. I'm… I'm…" Dean's mind raced back to everything he'd been taught in school after school. “Do you know what an abolitionist is?" He didn't know if it existed yet in her time.

Recognition darkened her eyes. “You one a'dem Yankees?"

"Yes," he lied as he clutched his chest. Blood seeped through his shirt there too. “Lia, I swear on the Virgin, I’m not gonna hurt you. You can trust me. We’re gonna leave here together and everyone here will be free. So will millions of others because of your bravery. Freedom's the one thing worth dying for. Your life - it’ll mean something so much bigger than you ever thought possible and the Virgin chose you for this."

A short, jerking, uncertain nod affirmed her permission. Dean didn't technically need her permission but he couldn't make himself take a martyred child by force. She was the purest of the martyrs there that night. He felt that just as clearly as he felt love for his family. And perhaps his faith. He realized, as he clumsily sank to the ground, that his speeches about Mary came from a place of true faith. He didn't understand it. He didn't have the strength to analyze it.

Dean grabbed a container of salt and flung a white circle around the pair of them. The little girl flinched. She reacted instinctively against the salt but Dean held out a placating hand.

"It's to protect us from the LaLaurie woman," he assured her.

Quickly, the wounded hunter grabbed the spell and glanced at Lia's ghost before he began reading it aloud. It was a deplorably long spell and he wished he had Castiel there to read it for him. Thanks to grace sharing, he'd been fluent in Enochian just long enough to know that the tongue reading those words that night spoke poorly. The ancient lyrical words deserved a better man but he gave it everything he had.

“ _Nah-row-hah-sey-lo-dah-ah_ ," Dean read carefully.

Light tendrils emerged from Lia's skirt just as the same light tendrils had extended to the jar from the ghost the previous night. It all went according to plan if he could just finish the spell. Lia whimpered like a terrified puppy but he couldn't interrupt the incantation to calm her. Once it began, he had to see it through. He noticed the slave girl's soul burned brighter than any soul he’d ever seen as it slowly spilled into the jar. She disappeared in incriminates from her feet to her waist, the jar filling with beautiful, innocent liquid light.

Movement on the edge of the courtyard distracted Dean but he ignored the mistress of the house. A flash of lavender and Madame LaLaurie reappeared, screaming incoherent strings of curses. She stalked a wide path around the salt circle, moving like a predator, cracking her whip at Lia. The whip passed straight through the girl without brushing a hair on her head.

Dean rushed through the spell, suddenly finding it unbearable to witness Lia endure more pain. He'd never admit being soft toward a ghost again, of course, but that child never did a thing wrong. She was a martyr in the truest definition. Her essence poured into the jar up to her chest and she kept her eyes fixed on him. Such strength and calm resolution muted her fear. Together they worked, his focus on the spell and her focus on him.

"How dare you steal my property!" Madame LaLaurie screeched.

Dean raised his voice and it flowed so much scratchier than before, reminding him that he needed a cigarette, badly. It didn't matter. Reading louder drowned out Madame LaLaurie's violent tantrum. She paced around just outside of the salt circle like a wild animal. And as Dean watched the jar filled with the liquid light of Lia's soul, he allowed himself to believe they might succeed.

"You shall know true suffering!" the lavender silk woman continued screeching such filth.

Madame LaLaurie slammed her whip into Dean once more. The shock receded into the existing wounds and, strangely, he noticed how numb he felt after enduring cut after cut of the lash. As he read out the final words of the spell, his body flinched in rhythm with the ghost's very solidly materialized whip. A new crosshatch pattern sliced his flesh over the one that already bled through his shirt. Intense concentration overcame him, watching Lia disappear into the jar. Only her braids and the top of her head remained visible. He couldn't stop until it was done no matter how much he growled in pain, no matter how the LaLaurie woman ripped into his skin. She couldn't reach him through the salt circle and that meant he could tolerate that damn whip all night long if necessary.

Finally, Lia disappeared wholly into the jar. Madame LaLaurie raged around the circle but she had, in his mind, reduced to a harmless storm cloud and nothing more dangerous. Dean slammed the lid on the jar and twisted it tightly, a brand of bluish light sealing the rim. He realized he couldn't open it again if he tried. If he couldn't, then no one else could. Lia gave herself over so bravely and he whispered his thanks, utterly ignoring the enraged mistress.

The whip cut across Dean's scalp in an abrupt slice of pain into his skull. His face slammed the ground, body splayed across the salt border, and the murderous ghostly woman grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Her inhuman strength dragged him out of the protection of his circle, though he barely had a second to think.

He flipped on his back and drove his boot into her stomach. That damn ghost felt shockingly solid. He guessed she gained so much strength holding all of the old slaves hostage for so long, like a parasite sucking nourishment through an innocent host. A burning sense of road rash tore at his flesh along his back as she grabbed his ankle and dragged him toward the house. He fought and he kicked but he lost his gun in the struggle, knowing deep down that she intended to drag him to the torture room in the attic.

"Now, Sammy! Now!" Dean ordered loudly toward the cell phone clipped to his hip.

Madame LaLaurie catapulted herself on top of Dean, a long slab of freezing marble rather than human warmth. Her bony fingers tore at his throat and pressed on his windpipe. His body tried to panic without oxygen but he'd been there before. Foot wedged into her hip, Dean grunted with the effort of throwing her over his head.

Both Dean and the ghost of Madame LaLaurie heard Sam strike the match on the other end of the phone line. "No!" her inhuman scream echoed through the courtyard.

The flames ignited along the edges of Madame LaLaurie's apparition as her body sailed over him. As her body began burning, it resembled a bad ending to an even worse horror movie. Leave it to moonlight and magnolias women to be so dramatic.

Burnt embers floated in the air and Madame LaLaurie crumbled and decayed into nothing but a terrible story. Ashes launched from the burning leftovers of her ghostly corpse, catching the humid New Orleans breeze, spreading that damaged, evil creature's remains throughout the block. Madame LaLaurie finally got what she deserved. And Sam - bless Sam for the salt and burn just at the right moment.

"Sammy?" Dean panted, flat on his back where she left him.

"I’m coming!" Sam replied, clearly running.

A heavy breath of relief passed through the older brother. Tears stung his eyes, though he didn't quite know if it was the pain of being whipped within an inch of his life or knowing he succeeded at getting the martyred soul without force.

Adrenalin faded and the real acute pain flooded into his torso. It radiated from his back to his chest, outlining each whip mark so thoroughly that his eyes tightly squeezed shut as if it might relieve the tension. Castiel's image emerged from the back of his mind where it always lived. He thought of the continuous torture the angel had endured for days on end in an effort to reprogram him. It all had to stop. Being whipped like a slave scarred Dean's psyche more than his body. He couldn't even muster the strength to get up now that it was all over, yet he doubted he could ever talk about the way he'd empathically felt everything a slave did during such inhumane punishment.

"Mary, let them all go," he whispered, though he didn't know why.

As Dean finally opened his eyes again, the most unexpected beauty filled his vision. Undulating clouds of soul light and color floated heavenward from every window and door of the LaLaurie mansion. He recognized the light of the soul easily now, just as he knew the difference between soul light and angelic grace light as well. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of living souls in bodies since Castiel shared his grace with him, yet nothing compared to the beauty of a soul free of the imprisonment of a body. Blue, purple, green, pink, yellow, and every shade in between lifted from the house like dozens of balloons released into the sky.

He realized he watched the journey home for dozens of souls kept in bondage for nearly two hundred years. Oppression, torture, and dehumanizing punishment ended with the burning embers of Madame LaLarie's ghost. Dean stopped breathing momentarily. He stared at each color, each light, each soul, and committed them to memory. They each had names and identities lost to history. Maybe that didn't matter anymore, so long as they were free.

Of course, Dean locked those feelings somewhere deep in his chest. Those were the sort of things he never spoke about but buried under a mile of rock, dirt, crap, and sarcasm. Witty remarks, too many bacon cheeseburgers, beer, whiskey, and the tough asshole demeanor hid it all so well. Sam saw it sometimes. Castiel saw more of it recently, but Dean didn't know if he could talk about what he experienced at the LaLaurie mansion at all.

Heavy boots stomped across the courtyard. Dean had no idea how much time passed but Sam must have ran like a maniac from the cemetery. And the enthralling vision of souls floating endlessly toward the stars mesmerized him so intensely that he barely felt any pain anymore.

"Dean, you okay? I got the jar," blurted Sam as he dropped by Dean’s side. "Shit, you're bleeding. We gotta get you back to the motel."

Smirking, so pleased with himself, Dean reached up from the ground and grabbed his brother’s chin. He pointed Sam's gaze toward the sky and smiled softly with relief.

"Just look, Sammy," he said. “We did it."

*****

At least Dean could walk once Sam tugged him to his feet. He'd insisted on carrying Lia himself in the bag over his shoulder in spite of the unbearable pain. A promise was a promise, after all, and he didn't know how aware her soul was in the jar. It took an hour to make the twenty minute trek back to the motel but Dean trudged ahead, unwilling to seek medical attention first.

"I'm fine, Sammy," he repeated for the third time at the room door.

The younger Winchester unlocked their room and shoved the door open for Dean. He stopped at the threshold, surprised by the cloaked figure who greeted them. Only one of the handmaidens for that visit, it seemed, but her essence cast a golden haze over the room. Sam shut the door behind them before anyone on the street saw the strange figure.

"Which one are you?" Dean asked.

"Sorina," she replied.

Oh good, the nice one, he thought to himself. "You've been watching?"

"Yes. You handled it beautifully, Dean. Seeking the martyr's permission ensured a fully in tact soul. Your compassion is to be commended. My Lady is rather pleased with how you represented her."

"But I lied to Lia," he pointed out, entirely uncomfortable with praise.

Sorina shook her head and pushed back her gold brocade hood. "Not so. You listened to your faith and spoke the words my Lady intended you to find should you look for guidance."

"Your faith?" Sam's eyebrow arched skeptically.

"I... uh..." A quick glance at his brother pulled away because he knew Sam could read him like a book.

"His faith grows," Sorina said, basically selling him out.

The arched eyebrow climbed even higher up Sam's forehead and he openly smirked. "Is that so? And how many years did you give me shit for praying and believing? Now look at you." He chuckled. "No wonder you were so cool and collected with that kid."

"Shut up," Dean muttered.

"I'll take the martyr to my Lady now," interjected the handmaiden.

Moving gingerly through the pain, Dean dropped his bag on the nearest bed and, as he unzipped it, he hesitated. The jar sealed by ethereal blue light stared at him and glowed with white liquid innocence filled to the top. He took the jar out of his bag but he didn't hand it over right away, thinking of Lia's abuse and the strength in her brown eyes.

"You're not gonna hurt her, right?" he asked quietly. "She's just a kid."

"It's not that kind of spell. I don't serve that kind of sovereign. The child's soul will be rewarded with eternal peace once her role is fulfilled." The handmaiden's long, creamy hands reached out to Dean. She could have easily curled her finger and ripped it from his grasp - he knew that - but she waited patiently for him to make peace with it.

Finally, Dean handed over the jar, saying, "Her name was Lia."

Sorina tucked the jar within her cloak and it disappeared in its folds. She then approached Dean, reaching up to touch his forehead, but he backed away suddenly.

"What are you doing?"

The handmaiden's face tilted slightly as if it was a trait among all angels. "You're wounded, Dean. Quite badly," she stated the obvious. "My orders are to heal you and your brother once you completed the task if you were hurt in the process."

"Thanks but I don't need healing." Dean shook his head and waved her off dismissively.

"Huh? Have you not seen what you look like?" His brother's eyes narrowed and his brows knitted together, clearly concerned for his state of mind as much as his body.

"I know. I'm well aware," replied Dean, closing up. He busied himself, avoiding the topic, and searched his luggage for clean clothes.

The truth was he felt like being healed was an insult to the souls they'd just freed. No angels descended from Heaven to heal the tortured slaves in the LaLaurie house or any other house for however many hundreds of years slavery existed. Castiel and Amina wrestled their way to the surface in his mind again and nobody healed them when they were tortured at different times in their histories. Though Amina hadn't said so, he guessed she faced "purification" at some point. Every enslaved creature, whether angel or human, faced that kind of control through domination.

"You will have scars, Dean, if I don't heal you now," Sorina explained.

No, Dean couldn't just erase the whipping he'd endured as if it never happened at all. He couldn't erase it from his mind either, no more than Castiel could forget what happened to him. If his body ended up disfigured by what he did that night, then that's how it had to be. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror, he would know that he once fought for something bigger than himself. He would remember that he tried to make their shit hole universe a better place where free will and independence of thought existed.

He looked at the handmaiden with an armful of new clothes, and he guessed she heard his thoughts as clear as his voice. "I know there'll be scars," he said simply. Nothing more needed to be said, really. "I don't s'pose you could zap us home though, so I don't have to fly again."

"I cannot do that," she said with a regretful head shake.

"Too suspicious," he guessed.

"Too suspicious," she repeated. She approached Sam then. "Hold out your hands, please."

Uncertain, Sam obeyed and Sorina slapped his palm. Just as he protested, boxes of bandages and antibacterial wash appeared there. "Take care of your brother. Watch for infection."

"Got it," he agreed.

Sorina glanced back at Dean, and although the other handmaidens were identical to her, something different softened her features. Perhaps she had been designed that way, or perhaps the Virgin Mary actually did encourage individual identity among her angels. Perhaps Dean grasped at anything to hold onto his faith.

"We are grateful for your work. When the time comes, we'll come for you again. Until then, live a normal life as we told you before," she instructed.

Dean nodded as the handmaiden disappeared into wispy smoke the same shade of gold as her cloak. His legs gave out and lost the battle with the pain, finally alone with his brother, and he dropped to the bed. For a long time, Sam let him sit there rubbing his eyes and enveloped in contemplative silence. He wasn't certain what affected him so much about that hunt but he knew Lia's face would haunt him for years, as would the disfigurement to his back and chest.

"You wanna call Cas?" probed Sam carefully.

"Yeah," Dean agreed but he didn't move for the phone.

"Look, why don't you shower off the dirt and I'll patch you up or whatever, okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said again.

The silent isolation of a shower sounded better than anything at the moment. Slowly, like an old man, he moved toward the bathroom.


	22. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the strangest feeling for Dean and Sam to have a home to return to after a hunt, and even weirder to have people in that home waiting for them. Getting used to their new normal is complicated by Dean's silence about what happened to him in New Orleans. The minute he walks into Castiel's bedroom, the angel knows something changed in him. What he tells Dean throws him so far off from his idea of normal that he immediately wants to undo the change. Meanwhile, Amina reunites with Sam and shows him some mysterious things she found in the basement storage about Henry Winchester that could affect the family's involvement in the Virgin Mary's war for power and angel freedom.

"It's weird, man," Dean said from the driver's seat of the car they 'borrowed' in Kansas City to get to Lebanon.

"What's weird?" Sam glanced up from his swift, awkwardly huge texting fingers. Cell phones definitely weren't designed for men of his stature.

"Having a place. You know, somewhere to come back to." The words tasted foreign on his tongue. “A _home_."

"We had Bobby's once."

"That wasn't ours."

The younger Winchester's light, distracted chuckle answered Dean as he steered the car bunker's dirt road.

"What?"

Sam shook his head. “Only we could get excited about living in a hole in the ground. We're like meerkats."

"Christ." Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, no more Animal Planet."

"Uncultured swine."

"Bitch." Laughing to himself, Dean thought in some distant corner of his mind back to the last time he really found something funny.

"Jerk." A smile brightened the younger brother's face in the glow of his cell phone. “Mina's still up. Told her we're coming."

They took the 'borrowed' car a mile past the bunker and dumped it in the woods. Just to throw off the trail a bit, they wiped fingerprints from the steering wheel and door handles, and yanked off the license plate before they loaded their bags on their backs for the walk back. Of course, Dean scowled at the ground, feeling the weight of his bag tear at his skinned lash marks, but he kept his mouth shut. He bore it in silence. One foot in front of the other.

The moon rose high in the ample Kansas sky by the time the Winchester brothers made it home. _Home_. Sure, they lived in a hole in the ground like meerkats or whatever the hell Sam called them, but Castiel and Amina gave them roots there.

With an immeasurable sigh of relief, Sam dropped his bags in the main hall, and then helped Dean with his own bags. Dean grumbled, of course, but then, he never wanted help even when he actually needed it.

They followed the sounds of running water and clanking dishes until they found Amina standing barefoot at the kitchen sink as if she had always been human. A chocolate cake displayed on the kitchen island behind her. If she learned to bake while they were gone, she _definitely_ earned her keep.

"Left an ex-angel and came back to Betty Crocker?" Dean joked.

Amina spun, dish soap glistening and bubbling up her forearms, and her round face blossomed in a wide-mouthed smile of delight. Both she and Castiel had gaping mouths like that, but they fit their faces.

"Hi, Dean!" she nearly shrieked girlishly.

Her bare feet dashed across the kitchen, flying into Sam's waiting arms, damn near climbing him like a monkey. She'd tied her hair in a neat ponytail and wore a sleeveless dark orange dress that Dean didn't remember. It cinched tightly around her waist with a braided leather belt. The orange fabric gripped the curve of her hips and fell around her knees, a line of buttons trailing from collar to hem. She left it somewhat open though and a hint of cleavage peeked out.

Oh, Jesus. Don't look, Dean. She's like your _sister-in-law_.

"Kinda like climbing a tree, huh?" he teased.

Amina hugged Sam around the neck like a vice while she playfully glared down at Dean. “It's not his fault he's tall." Turning to Sam, she pressed a strenuous kiss to his lips as he effortlessly held her up around his waist.

"Tell him, baby," he laughed into her mouth.

"Gross," muttered Dean. “I'm gonna see Cas."

"Just as gross!" Sam added over his shoulder as Dean escaped the kitchen and the sickeningly sweet kissy faces. Once he left, he heard their murmured conversation continue. “Where'd you get this dress? I don't remember it."

"I found a box of clothes in the basement when I was looking for spare lightbulbs yesterday," she replied, her voice fading in the distance. “We have to talk, Sam…"

Dean mounted the long, curving stairwell two at a time in spite of the stinging pain around his back. Just being closer to Castiel, knowing he was there in that bedroom, considerably relaxed the tension in his shoulders. He felt himself breathing again as if he didn't really grab hold of life unless his angel stood there beside him. He merely existed on autopilot without him and that … well … that wasn't something he fully understood yet. That was never the plan for his life.

Their bedroom washed in shadows and dim light shining from lamps on the dressers. The television glowed with some infomercial but the sound had been turned down too low to hear. Castiel lay propped on two pillows in Dean's white button down shirt and jeans, hands folded over his abdomen. His features relaxed in serene repose with his eyes closed as if taking a nap, except angels didn't sleep.

Maybe, Dean guessed as he quietly sat on the edge of his bed, he'd escaped into his internal garden again. The hunter softened into something human, something gentle, as he draped a hand over Castiel's forehead. He felt good - more like himself than ever. Attentive hands undid a few shirt buttons and his fingers splayed over the center of the angel’s toned chest. It didn't feel like a fever anymore. His heart thumped steadily against Dean's palm and the bruises had turned yellow and green in their last stages of healing.

"I was thinking about the first time we met," murmured Castiel without opening his eyes. A faint smile ghosted over his lips.

"How'd you know it's me?" Dean asked, only mildly surprised.

"I'm still an angel. I can see your soul even when my eyes are closed." He spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you remember the first time we met?"

"In Hell? No."

"Not Hell, Dean." His smile grew a bit. “The barn. You shot me. Bobby tried to kill me with some kind of blade. And then you stabbed me."

"This is a _good_ memory for you?"

"Yes, Dean. Your audacity shocked me. I'm very rarely shocked by anything. I had never seen anything like you until that night." Castiel opened his eyes and he sat up with much more strength than he had before Dean went to New Orleans. He stopped abruptly, staring through analytic blue eyes. “Something's different in you." His long hand stretched over Dean's sternum where the human soul lived.

Dean's wary eyes studied the angel. “What are you talking about?"

The angel rushed at Dean and clamped arms around his chest. A gush of air swirled around him as Castiel's wings curled around his back as well. Dean swallowed back a roar of pain, making Castiel release him on the spot. The angel appraised his arms, his shoulders, and then tugged up his shirt with an audible gasp. Fingertips traced the two bandages over Dean's chest and, without a word, Castiel manhandled him to have a look at the damage to his back. Dean guessed he saw straight through the gauze and surgical tape by the painful silence he emitted.

"Dean…"

"Don't heal me, Cas," he said over his shoulder. “I'm fine."

"You were beaten."

"Whipped, actually. I don't wanna talk about it." Dean slumped forward, his shoulders drawn down with his forearms braced on his thighs, and he breathed an even sigh toward the floor.

It probably caused Castiel considerable pain along his legs as he shifted on the bed, yet he slipped his arms around Dean's waist from behind. Lingering kisses dropped a path across his shoulder to his neck in a wordless confirmation that he understood. The angel had that way about him of kissing Dean in a hundred different ways that communicated a hundred different things, least among them sex. Wings settled carefully around him again, over his shoulders and down along his legs to the floor, as if the hunter was wrapped in a silky blanket. He missed the scent of angelic roses.

Feeling Castiel so thoroughly wrapped around Dean's wounds calmed some of the burning, and he relaxed into silence for a time. He caressed one of the arms locked around his naked waist and enjoyed his neck being scratched by uneven dark scruff. Quiet and peaceful for the first time in days, Dean let go of Castiel's arm and passed his wide palm down the length of his left wing.

"Do you know it changed you?" Castiel probed gently.

The hunter shrugged lightly. "Sure. I'm gonna have scars."

"Not your body, Dean. You've become an empath." Castiel's hand lifted to his heart and measured something unseen within him. “Yes, just there. It was always in you but something happened in New Orleans that dislodged your self-imposed block on it."

It didn't sound good and Dean stiffened. “You talking about psychic shit? I ain't Sammy."

"No, not exactly. An empath connects to the emotions people carry on a deeper level and sometimes experiences those emotions as their own. Or physical illness. Or pain. If Sam developed a cold, for example, then your empathic nature would absorb it and you would develop a cold with him, even from miles away."

"Peachy." Already, Dean made plans to research how to get rid of it. He couldn't even make sense of his own emotions half the time, let alone everyone around him too.

"Dean," his tone turned more cautious, “are you seeing souls?"

He hesitated, having not told anyone about that. “Glimpses," he eventually admitted.

The angel nodded against his shoulder as if he already knew. “That's a hallmark of an empath."

"Well, if I blocked it before, I can block it again," Dean retorted stubbornly.

"We should talk about it."

"I don't wanna talk about it." Pulling himself loose from Castiel's winged embrace, he readjusted his position on the bed so they could see each other face to face. He sighed and reeled in the frustration with himself. “Cas, I…" Change the subject. Deflect it from himself. One face surfaced in his thoughts. “Cas…"

"Yes, Dean?" He laced their fingers through each other and waited.

Finally, Dean's weary eyes lifted to the sympathetic, patient blueness looking back at him. “I wanna tell you about Lia."

Castiel nodded. “Talk to me."

*****

A petite hand led Sam to the library where they discussed their most important matters. The sway of her hips, her tiny naked feet, the way her dress accentuated her figure - Sam really just wanted to get her to bed immediately. But as he followed her into the library, his eye immediately pulled to an old steamer trunk opened on one of the research tables.

"You dragged this thing upstairs by yourself?" he asked in disbelief.

Amina giggled, shaking her head, and pressed on a false panel inside the trunk's lid. "I emptied it out first and then it was light enough to drag. At first I thought it was just another box of clothes because there are a lot of boxes of things like that downstairs that you haven't seen yet. Things from, as far as I can tell, the 1930s up until 1958." She leafed through envelopes and documents pulled from the false lid. "I saw a dress in this one and I thought that was strange because I hadn't seen any female possessions yet. I know the Men of Letters allowed female initiates but I don't think there were that many of them."

Sam had to admit, it had him intrigued as well. "It does seem like a boy's club around here. At least the clothes fit you, right? Silver lining."

"Yeah, but you may not want me to keep these clothes once you know what I found out about them." Her apprehensive eyes flashed up at him as she handed him a photograph. "That's your grandfather according to the label on the back. See the woman he's hugging there? She's wearing this dress I'm in right now. It's dated May 1957."

"What the hell?" Squinting, Sam leaned in for a closer look at the vintage photograph with black and white faces looking back at him through time. The familiar features of shared facial traits with his grandfather and father seemed like an echo. Henry Winchester embraced a woman around the waist with one arm and held her hand out with the other. Clearly, they danced together and they looked quite happy. Her light hair curled around her shoulders and her smile shined brightly. Except-- "That's not my grandmother."

"No."

"He was a married man in 1957. My father was three-years-old. The next year, he was initiated as a full member here."

"Yeah."

"Oh..." The puzzle pieces clicked into place with what his logical mind already knew. He flipped the photograph over and read her name. "Roberta Watley."

"I couldn't find her name in any of the Men of Letters initiate records, or even among the apprentices," explained Amina. "She wasn't one of you."

Sam's face scrunched in confusion. He stared down at the photograph again. "But why would she have a trunk of things here? You're sure there's nothing at all from other non-initiate women? Other wives maybe? Girlfriends?"

"None. Initiates kept their families and friends entirely separate from this world. Very compartmentalized. The female initiates may have left some things behind but I haven't found anything yet. I really wasn't even looking on purpose. Once I got curious, though, I kept digging. I opened every box and trunk in that storage room. She was hidden here for a reason, Sam."

"What reason?"

"There are letters from Henry to Bertie - he called her Bertie." Amina handed him a bundle of envelopes, yellowed and brittle with age. "Basically, she bore witness to the Blessed Mother. That means she was allowed to see Mother in a series of revelations. You may have seen a similar occurrence in Lourdes, France, for example. Few on Earth have this privilege."

Sam nodded. His mind flashed on books he'd referenced while trying to find help for Castiel. Following the reports that the Virgin Mary had appeared to Bernadette Soubirous on a total of eighteen occasions in the mid-nineteenth century, Lourdes developed into a site of Catholic pilgrimage and miraculous healings. Mary had instructed her to build a church in a cave-grotto, which was visited by millions every year. Sam tore himself out of the book references in his mind and focused on making sense of what Amina reported.

"The Men of Letters caught wind of Bertie's visitations and two of the apprentices went to the mental hospital in Columbia, Missouri, to interview her for case collection."

"My grandfather," Sam surmised.

Amina nodded. "Somehow during the course of Henry's visits, they fell in love and had an affair. There are hints in the letters of a pregnancy but they stop before we know if she had a child or not. It seems she was hidden here because the Vatican was after her. And apparently, most of the priests in the Vatican at that time were possessed by demons."

"I'm trying to understand this. You're saying my grandfather had an affair with a mental patient who communicated with the Virgin Mary?" It couldn't have been a coincidence, yet they weren't blood related with that woman. The Virgin seeking out Dean couldn't have been a family thing.

Amina shook her head. "She was a nurse, not a patient."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know. The letters don't really give any clues." Her fingers fidgeted with one of the vintage buttons on her dress. "Sam, I won't keep the clothes if you don't like it. I took them upstairs before I found the letters. I'm just trying to make a home for myself, so I thought I'd save you money by reusing things. I don't mean any disrespect."

"I know, baby," he reassured, his voice softening. The bundle of letters was dropped on the table and he pulled her in for a close, lingering embrace. "You wear the clothes if you like them. I never knew these people, so it doesn't really matter to me that way. I don't know what all this means yet either. Given it involves the Virgin Mary, I doubt it's a coincidence." He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the floral scent of her shampoo. "We have to figure out how to tell Dean tomorrow. He'll need to know. This is gonna require a lot of research, I guess."

"Good thing you've got an archivist at your disposal," she replied sweetly. Delivering the news relaxed her body and he felt her snuggle tighter against his chest.

"Yeah, good thing," he replied, smiling into her wavy, thick hair. "And don't feel guilty about me buying you things. It's what good men do. Whatever you need, I can afford it now. I like being able to give you a comfortable life."

"Are you sure?" The strain of guilt tensed her voice.

"Sure, I'm sure. Keep the clothes if you like them, not because you need to recycle stuff." Sam nuzzled her neck and kissed the soft skin inside of her collar. "Let's go to bed."


	23. I Have An Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is feeling good enough to go outside for the first time since being rescued from Heaven's prison, so Dean, Sam, and Amina have a barbecue near the bunker. They discuss the war in Heaven as well as the mysterious woman photographed in 1957 with Henry Winchester. She was clearly not his wife and letters found in the basement indicate that she bore witness to the Virgin Mary, yet both she and Henry disappeared a year later. They agree to do some digging on it while they wait for news on Heaven's war. Meanwhile, Dean is fighting the realization that he's an empath, though he still won't talk about what he went through in New Orleans. Thankfully, for Dean at least, Amina has a shocking announcement to make that takes attention away from him. (The middle section of this chapter is NC-17 between Sam and Amina. Fair warning. Dean and Castiel NC-17 will be coming in the next few chapters.)

"So Granddad Winchester ran around on the wife, huh? That explains a few things," said Dean. He jammed oven fries in his mouth.

"Explains what?" Amina asked as she dished out salad for herself and then Sam.

"Story is Granddad Winchester disappeared on our grandmother when Dad was four. I guess that'd be 1958. Dad always hated him for the disappearing act," replied Sam, tucking into his salad. “Thanks, baby."

"Ironic, considering…" Dean muttered bitterly.

Listening intently, Castiel offered, “Perhaps this Roberta Watley woman has something to do with his disappearance."

"I dunno." Sam shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine."

The four of them sat around a table that Dean and Sam toted outside after the younger brother got off work. Castiel felt good enough to venture out for an afternoon; the feat accomplished by the angel sitting in a wheelchair and the three of them carrying it downstairs. He expressed a litany of frustrations about the half-healed broken tibia bones, and even wanted to attempt healing himself, but Dean forbade it until his grace remained stable for at least forty-eight hours.

Once outside, though, Castiel's mood lifted higher than any of them had seen it in weeks and weeks. He turned his face toward the sun and closed his eyes in ultimate serenity. He looked like a puppy with his face hanging out of a car window, really. Shaggy dark brown hair fluffing up in the breeze and blue eyes glittering in the sunlight made him seem distinctly human. Only Dean could see the halo shining over his head and the enormous black raven wings spilling over the arms of the wheelchair to the ground.

And while Dean barbecued burgers, Amina taught herself to make a salad. More and more, she fought any offered assistance from the brothers, expressing a rather verbal desire to learn human tasks on her own. She developed ballsy independence more every day. It amused Sam to no end, Dean noticed, his little brother smirking to himself as he observed her work it out.

Once dinner spread out on the table, conversation shifted immediately to Henry Winchester and Roberta Watley. The early evening sun crept lower in the sky and storm clouds rolled far off in the distance. Dean listened to Sam explain the Winchester half of the family to Amina as she dished out salad, and listened to Castiel's occasional comments. One thing needed to be asked though.

"You think we should look into this or let it go?" Dean asked Sam directly, a matter between brothers. Absently, he reached under the table and stretched out his left leg, feeling a tingle edging on a deeply-rooted ache.

A bite so large it looked like half the salad shoveled into Sam's mouth as he shrugged again. “It's a Virgin Mary connection. Can't be a coincidence, you know?"

"Right. Yeah." Dean rubbed his shin. “Might be worth a look."

"Do you think she's still alive?" asked Amina between bites.

"If she is, she's gotta be in her 70s by now. I'll see if I can find her in public records tonight," Sam replied.

"Teach me?"

"Sure." The younger brother smiled at his lady sitting beside him. But he watched Dean periodically rubbing his leg, confused. “What's with you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." He straightened up at the table.

Conversation drifted over dinner. More cheeseburgers, a second bag of oven fries, and a lot of Amina's salad filled their bellies as they talked about the war. None of them had any plans for after the war was decided, they discovered, but the Winchesters never really made plans beyond the next day. Perhaps, Amina suggested, they ought to think about what they all expected out of that motley crew of a family they had unintentionally formed.

As much as Dean pushed himself to focus on the conversation, his leg ached but he couldn't remember doing anything to it. Absently, he cast an eye over to Castiel just as he also leaned down under the table. Dean couldn't see where his hand went but he knew. He just _knew_.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed under his breath.

The hunter shot up from the table and stalked across the yard, into the bunker. Both Sam and Castiel called out after him but he ignored their questions as he went into the bunker, through the empty main hall, the library, and upstairs. In their bedroom, he grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen from the nightstand and retraced his path back outside again. He counted out four pills and grabbed Castiel's wrist to drop them in the palm of his hand.

"Dean, what's this for?" the angel questioned.

"Take the damn pills, Cas," Dean growled. He couldn't deal with being an empath. That shit had to stop if he had to visit every witch doctor, priest, voodoo queen, and shaman west of the Mississippi.

Castiel's dark blue eyes went blank trying to comprehend.

He didn't want to say it out loud. Gritted teeth muffled his words. “You're in pain. Take the ibuprofen. You can't tough guy it out anymore. You follow?"

Realization brought the angel's countenance back to life. “Yes, of course. I understand." Obediently, he dropped the pills in his mouth and washed them down with Dean's Coke.

"Dude, what the hell?" Sam communicated wordless questions across the table to his brother.

Shaking his head dismissively, Dean lit himself a cigarette and waited for the ibuprofen to hit Castiel's bloodstream. Flashes of things he experienced about his lover in Heaven resurfaced in his mind. That night driving back to Denver when he felt himself thrust into the torture Castiel endured, and nearly wrecked the Impala because of it… Dean wondered if the block on his empathic curse began dislodging itself when the angels took Castiel away for 'purification'. Shit.

He noticed Amina eyeing him across the table. “I think I know," she said.

"What?" pressed Sam.

Silently, Dean's eyes narrowed at her, warning her to keep quiet.

"Dean was born an empath. He finally stopped blocking it. He was feeling my pain." Of course, Castiel could always be counted upon to blurt everything out because he never picked up on human subtlety.

"Thanks, Cas."

"What?"

"I didn't want people to know until I figured out how to stop it."

"You don't need to stop your natural—"

"—Cas!"

"Okay, time out on the lovers' quarrel," interrupted Sam over Dean's increasing discomfort. “Dean, did you always know you're an empath?"

"No." He couldn't make eye contact.

"How did it happen?"

Amina's quieter tone shyly offered her knowledge. “Most often, witnessing a traumatic event in an emotionally charged circumstance forces the empath to acknowledge the ability."

"Whatever it was occurred in New Orleans," added Castiel.

"Okay, what happened?" Sam interrogated further.

Dean ignored the lot of them as he lazily puffed away on his cigarette. They waited in awkward silence but he simply didn't respond. Obstinate as ever, Dean Winchester refused to become a psychic thing to worry about like he did with Sam, no matter how Castiel tried to prove that empaths weren't _fully_ psychic. It wasn't like he had visions of the future or anything. But still. Nope.

"I can't get him to talk about it," Castiel admitted as if it caused him shame.

A second bout of awkward silence descended over their outdoor dinner table. That was exactly the thing Dean wanted to avoid. Now he was different. Really different. Now he was a freak. He glanced at his brother, though, and a tiny part of himself understood Sam better than ever.

The sole lady at the table sipped her lemonade - another victory in her kitchen repertoire - and gracefully slid into the tense silence. “Can I change the subject, boys?"

"I'll pay you a million dollars," Dean replied.

"Okay, good." She smiled as if she carried a secret of her own, and she straightened her posture. “I have an important announcement to make since we're all together at the moment."

She had their attention.

"I've made a decision. It's been really hard for me to come to this decision, but now that it’s decided, I'm at peace about it. The thing is, I need your support to do it." Her eyes passed over Dean, Castiel, and finally, she lingered on Sam. “When the war is over, I have decided not to take back my grace. I like waking up every day and not knowing what might happen. I like being a member of this family, if I'm allowed to remain part of it. Angels - we understand loyalty and duty, but we don't have any conception of real family love or the love of a companion. Human life is an adventure and I’m comfortable being a woman now. It only took a month of tears, anxiety, and real, horrible fear, but I think I'm past the worst of it." She took a breath. “So with your blessings, I'd like to remain human from now on."

Dean actually smiled and meant it. “You sure you wanna, you know, clip your wings?"

"My wings are already clipped. I'm doing okay, right?"

"You're doing great." Sam’s impressively long arm latched around Amina and, his face buried in her hair, whispered private things that Dean thought he probably didn't want to hear. He squeezed her tightly against his chest and kissed her temple. “Okay?"

She nodded, smiling, and peered up at him. “You're sure?"

"Yeah," he affirmed.

Amina's eyes shifted to her own brother, though none knew what he thought by the usual emotionless expression he carried. “Brother, what do you have to say?"

Castiel took his time, considering things in his usual careful way. “Are you truly at peace with giving up what you were created to be?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation.

"And Mother?"

The question perplexed Amina momentarily. "Mother fights for the will to choose individual destiny among our kind, does she not? That free will must extend to the choice of mortality vs immortality."

Nodding, Castiel conceded to her point as if he already knew it but merely wanted to see if she did. "That is, if Mother wins the war. If not, you will surely be hunted for blasphemy. You know what God's law is concerning angels who choose to fall."

"I know," she said with a sober nod. "I know that just as you know how impossible it is to walk away from the one thing you can't live without. Isn't that right, brother? Sometimes the choice between centuries of servitude, death, and thirty or forty years of love and life..." Her blue eyes shifted from her brother to Sam. "There is no real choice."

"I'm all for tearing up the script and making it up as you go along," said Dean as he lifted his Coke bottle to that idea.

Castiel peered at Dean with the sort of penetrating gaze that showed his budding emotions. They weren't fully formed yet but when they appeared, he looked stunningly human. Dean brought it out of him and always had if they were truly honest about it. He reached over the table and took the hunter's hand. The two of them gazed at each other like some damn chick flick, but really, Dean had drifted back from the family since that night in New Orleans. He'd drifted from Castiel, though neither said so out loud. Amina - bless her for it - her announcement brought Dean back to his orbit.

"Sister, I give you my blessing and I will do what I can to protect you should things go against us. I doubt I'd be welcome back in Heaven anyway. Mother may win but the other angels - I'm a pariah to them," said Castiel, holding onto Dean's hand. "So we must build our own family."

"Bobby always used to say family don't end with blood," added Dean, thinking of all the people they had lost.

*****

A great thing about being built like a Redwood tree was being able to slam the bedroom door with one hand and lift his girlfriend around his waist simultaneously with the other hand. Sam had endured quite enough of waiting to get Amina alone for the night. Her back slammed against the wall, his weight pinning her there. Laughter bubbled from her throat as his fingers dug into the backs of her thighs.

"Sam..." She lost her words in giggles the second his lips tickled her earlobe. She tried again. "Sam, I have to tell you something."

"Tell me later." His pelvis involuntarily thrust up into hers in spite of the encumbrance of clothes.

Sam's hands passed through her hair, down the length of her slender throat, and he ripped her dress open with fistfuls of blue fabric. She gasped sharply, momentarily offended, but she kept up with him like she'd been with him for years. His shirt buttons popped and a length of green plaid ended up thrown across the room, much to his delight. He had to get out of his jeans before his urgent erection ripped the zipper apart.

They tumbled from the wall to the bed in a blur of dueling tongues, wet lips smacking against each other, and hands roughly pulling through hair. Sam ended up flopped on his back as Amina giggled mischievously and tugged off his boots, socks, jeans, and boxers. Methodical yet rushed, she flung her dress on the floor, immediately followed by her bra and panties. Getting her pointed toward sex sometimes took a little prodding, but once she took interest, she reminded Sam of a car speeding toward a brick wall.

Amina climbed onto the bed and straddled Sam's lap, the first time she ever took control. Breath tangled in his throat as his blood rushed in a hot burst of anticipation. He sat up and still towered over her even if the weight and smooth skin along her inner thighs pinned his hip bones to the mattress.

Her face turned up to his with a searing, insistent kiss, and she lifted just enough to sink down on his rigid flesh. Mutual groans passed back and forth between their mouths, hers much more restrained, as her body took control. Quick, rolling turns of her hips sent Sam into a dizzying spiral. He grabbed her hips but it did nothing to slow her urgency. That was not to be a lasting encounter. It was like a bolt of lightning and rumbling thunder into the night.

As if instinct propelled her, the former angel leaned back without breaking her rhythm. She braced herself with a grip on his knees that stung as her nails dug into his flesh, but the sight of her spine arched, her hips erratically working his dick, and her breasts bouncing with her pace, all hypnotized him. Hands so much larger than her own and calloused by rough manual labor stretched over her skin.

Then Amina's lips parted, allowing higher-pitched moans to flow into the room. She teetered on the edge. He read her signs as well as he read his own, which weren't far behind.

Sam's hand fell between them as the other snaked around her waist. Swift fingertips rubbed circles over her swollen, tender bundle of nerves, making her gasp and buck against him. His eyes snapped shut and a deep growl spun louder from his throat as he immersed himself in the sensation of her clenching around him. Those beautiful moments when she lost control and moaned wantonly sent him over the edge whether he wanted to come yet or not. Their bodies had minds of their own, milking the last of their pent up energy from the other.

A man entirely too large for any bed slumped back on the mattress; dizzy, drained, and gulping air into his lungs. Tingling traveled through him down to his toes and back again. Amina dropped over his chest and her long, dark hair stuck to the faint gleam of sweat.

Time passed. Neither knew how much.

"I forgot a condom again," Sam muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"I don't care," she mumbled drowsily.

"You'll care if you get pregnant."

She shrugged against his chest. "You're the only one I want. If it happens, it happens."

"It's too soon," he argued, though not malicious.

"I have a suspicion you Winchesters think anything is perpetually too soon when it comes to having anything normal like a family. There will always be some war in the universe, some monster to kill, some mass genocide to stop, and maybe those are legitimate reasons not to try for something normal, but life will pass you by before you know it. It's never going to be a good time but it may be  _your_ time. I'm not saying we should intentionally conceive but it wouldn't be the end of the world if it actually did happen."

How did she do that? How did she make so much sense? For a minute, Sam almost did want to conceive a child on purpose, but logic reminded him that it was just too soon. It certainly wasn't the worst idea in the world - he agreed with her on that one. He just never counted himself as father material like, say, Dean.

Amina pushed off Sam's chest and ambled across the room without bothering to replace her dress. He watched her rifle through the dresser and conceal some small object in her fist. Wordlessly, she slid across the bed on her stomach, resting on her elbows with her feet pointed up.

"What are you hiding there?" Sam rolled on his side and folded an arm under his head.

"When I was trying to decide whether to be human or angel, I went down to the dungeon and got my grace out of the chest," said Amina. "I almost took it back right then and there. It was part of me for longer than you can imagine. It  _was_ me. An angel's grace is like a human's soul. It's been strange and painful at times to be without it, but something else got into me and taught me to live. Loving you is part of me now, and even when we argue, I'm not willing to give you up."

"You don't have to give me up," he assured her.

"And you don't have to give me up either." Amina's hand opened. The vial of whitish-blue liquid light glowed against her palm, surrounded by a silver chain hooked to the lid. "This is my grace. I want you to keep it for me. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to but--"

Sam took the glass vial and silenced her with a chaste but rather lengthy kiss. The one woman in the universe who didn't die a gruesome death after sleeping with him wanted him to keep the most important piece of herself. Of course he would wear it. He slung the chain over his head and the vial hung to the middle of his chest. It appeared long enough to stow within his shirt while he worked.

"We're going to be okay, Sam," she promised. "Even if we lose the war, we'll find a way."

*****

Hot showers were Dean's favorite part of the day. Sometimes he took two just to be alone with his thoughts, make a shampoo mohawk, and belt out his favorite songs way too loud. Maybe that lifelong habit of needing breaks throughout the day to be alone was another one of the hallmarks of being an empath that Castiel talked about. Hell bent and determined, Dean intended to find a way to make  _that_ stop as soon as possible.

A towel gripped around his waist, the hunter passed down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his angel. Castiel sat up in bed in his - well, Dean's - boxers watching  _Deadly Women_. His newest interest was all things true crime.

"Dean, you smell like flowers," he commented through a half-smile.

"Out of soap. Had to borrow from Amina." Dropping the towel, Dean hunted through his disastrous dresser for clean boxers. He really needed to get their room in order.

"Are you feeling better?" Castiel asked in a gentler tone.

"I should be asking you that." Finally, he found gray boxer briefs that smelled clean and stepped into them.

"Perhaps," the angel conceded, "but I doubt you have to ask."

"I don't." Dean shook his head, and, carefully pushing an enormous black raven wing up, he climbed into bed. "You're craving more peppermints. Sammy's just about asleep. Amina's awake and worried." Unbelievable. He shook his head again. "None of this is my business. I shouldn't feel what my family feels." Still, he leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the bag of candy Amina had left. He tossed it in Castiel's lap. "Here."

"You were born this way, Dean. You didn't do anything wrong." Thin plastic crinkled as he unwrapped the white and red striped candy to pop it in his mouth.

"I don't want it," he said stubbornly. Again.

Castiel's patience certainly got tested by that withdrawn, sullen mood that came home with Dean but he never faltered. "Have you considered what an asset it could be in your profession? Now you can sense when others are present even when you can't see them. You can sense a liar or a truthful person before they open their mouths."

He knew Castiel had a point but he had seen Sam go through the darkest shadows of humanity bordering on being a monster because of his psychic mind. Eventually, he said, "It's not natural, Cas."

"How can something you're born with be unnatural?" He shifted and wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders, pulling him closer. "You're not your brother. What happened to him was demonic manipulation. What you are is simply a person more attuned to his environment and the beings around him. You've spent your entire life blocking it and pouring alcohol on it, so of course it feels like it appeared out of nowhere. Give it time to prove its worth."

"You in my head again?" Dean whispered as he settled against Castiel.

"No. You told me to stay out of your head."

Dean chuckled. "When do you ever listen to me?"

"When do _you_ ever listen to _me_ , Dean?" His eyes twinkled in the glow of television. He leaned in and kissed Dean's lips, lightly stroking the stubble over his jaw. "Go to sleep. We begin searching for the truth in your grandfather's life tomorrow."


	24. Granddaddy Winchester's Mistress Was A What...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Virgin Mary's war against God intensifies. The undesirables from Hell and Purgatory sniff around looking for something to gain from it. Bastet warns Amina and Dean to be vigilant about protecting themselves after she describes killing a demon who tried to get on the property. Later, Dean discovers the war coming straight to his doorstep and the Winchesters, Amina, and Castiel take cover in the bunker as angels slam away at each other on Earth. But when Dean sees Bastet fighting too, he can't just sit there doing nothing. Both of them manage to take out more than a dozen of enemy angels before they're wounded in battle. One of God's angels tells Dean that God has been waiting for him to answer for his rebellion before he tries to kill him. Suddenly, Dean is rescued by one of the Virgin Mary's angels, Madriel. Who is this Madriel and are his intentions entirely pure? And how does he know Roberta Watley, the mistress of Henry Winchester? Castiel and Amina certainly know who Madriel is, which forces both of them to definitively choose between their pasts with the angels and their futures with the Winchesters. (This chapter has depictions of blood and violence. Dean also gets hurt. Fair warning.)

"Where was it?"

"The north edge. You must carry this!"

"I don't want it!"

Female voices argued back and forth, forcing Dean's concentration from the book in his lap. He'd spent most of the morning reading about psychic ability but found very little concerning empathic tendencies. It seemed rare, at least in the Men of Letters library. But the voices wafting through the kitchen grew in intensity, distracted him and propelled him up from his chair.

He found Amina and Bastet separated by the kitchen island. Frightened and combative, Amina had a white knuckled death grip on the edge of the counter as the cat-goddess waved the handle of a demon blade at her, pleading to take it. Amina's eyes turned fearfully wide and her body jumped as if she intended to bolt if Bastet got any closer.

Dean hadn't seen Bastet inside for more than a week. Normally she patrolled outside in feline form rather than human. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"Hello, my dear boy." Bastet's eyes, glittering gold with elongated pupils, shifted to Dean and a faint smile displayed her pointy cat teeth.

"Bastet," he greeted with a single nod. He glanced at poor Amina who never did seem to like cats. "Chill out. She's not gonna hurt you."

Amina glowered. “She's a _cat_. Even when she's human, she still looks like a _cat_.”

"I'm not human, darling. I'm a goddess," Bastet retorted.

"You have claws and teeth and you sneak around like you own everything." Amina backed against the refrigerator and hugged herself.

"Cats are natural born rulers, darling,” she sneered back.

Sighing, Dean rubbed his eyes. “Can we get back to the point?”

"Of course, Dean. As I told Tinkerbell here, I found a demon on the north edge of the property last night. I killed it, of course, but like rats, there are sure to be more where there was one. We must defend ourselves." Bastet tossed her eyes at the girl against the refrigerator. "I stole the demon blade and I'm trying to convince Tinkerbell to protect herself but she won't obey."

"My name is Amina. And I told you already, my combat days are over."

"You are putting all of these people in danger!" The tone of Bastet's milky voice screeched strangely like a cat in a fight.

"Why was it here?" Dean asked, derailing the argument between the women again.

"We didn't exactly exchange pleasantries before I jammed the blade through its chest. My apologies." Her sarcasm cooled into indifference. "The war is reaching a critical point. I'm quite certain the undesirables in both Hell and Purgatory are busy seeking their advantages. That's what parasites do. The demons may think angels are hiding here, given your bond with Castiel. A kidnapped angel is quite a bargaining chip."

The description sent a visible shudder through Amina, though she covered it with a brave face. “Do they know how much grace is hidden here?” She referred to more than a hundred vials belonging to the Virgin Mary’s highest host stowed away deep in the dungeon downstairs.

"Perhaps they do. I couldn't say for certain. It's best to assume they know everything we do and to assume they will try to get to it, not that they can get past the front door." Bastet extended the handle of the demon blade toward Amina again. "Take it. You know as well as I do that you are a target, darling. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Sam."

Weary, hesitantly, Amina caved and took the blade. She stuffed it into the belt of her dress, which gave her a peculiar appearance. "I just want to be left in peace. I don't want to be reminded of what I was."

"Your new life won't happen if you don't defend yourself and this family, as you call it," said Bastet in a stern tone. "Assume the demons know everything that happens here. Be vigilant. All of you."

*****

Dry heat rippled up from the Kansas earth that afternoon like the transparent gas fumes of a barbecue. Dean took a few minutes outside with a cigarette, leaning against the industrial railing leading down to the bunker door. Cigarettes didn't exactly taste good anymore, he admitted to himself, but they did wonders for his stress and kept him from crawling into whiskey bottles. So he smoked.

He watched the sky to the horizon, something he did more and more as the war dragged on, looking for any signs of battles happening around them. At least the daily tornadoes stopped and the Impala made its way through them with only a few minor scratches.

Wickedly hot summers in a flat state like Kansas meant dust clouds often rose to the sky, which Dean noticed that day. He watched the amber colored haze with only mild interest as he smoked.

But the hazy cloud moved. No, moved wasn't quite right. It morphed. It undulated. The instinct of a hunter knew to recognize something unnatural immediately and Dean felt his body go into intense alertness. He stood straighter, tilted forward, and squinted. Recognizable shapes formed high in the sky, yet his brain couldn't quite translate them.

Then he saw it.

A line of armored torsos as defined as they were sepia. Like an apparition two or three miles tall, the military line took shape out of a seemingly harmless dust cloud and he knew it wasn't his brain playing tricks on him. Several arms with swords risen high materialized. An old painting of Michael wearing armor and standing on Lucifer’s neck with a sword raised high came to mind in that moment and he froze. He couldn't know which side it was - Mary or God.

"Bastet!" The long bellowing sound of her name peeled from his lungs across the yard.

Tense moments passed until he caught the glimpse of a black cat galloping across the grass, across the road, past the Impala. And as she drew closer, her shape undulating like the dust cloud until she became human, long Egyptian legs hurrying toward him.

Silently, he pointed to the distant manifestation.

"God's army," she said gravely. "Go inside. None of you come out until it's over. Is Sam back from his job yet?"

"Yeah, about a half hour ago. Until what's over?" he interrogated.

"The attack. Skirmishes have been happening all over the earth. Now it appears a full-scale battle is about to commence. Go inside, Dean! Now!" Her last words hissed at him in a feline warning.

"What about you?" The loyalty he felt simply wouldn't let him ditch her outside in that shit storm.

"I'll come later. Someone has to keep watch. Dean, don't make me say it again. Go!"

*****

Hours later, Dean paced the library. The guardian goddess still hadn't come back as she promised and it sounded like the worst thunderstorm he'd ever heard out there. Something between a hurricane and a dozen tornadoes, really. It knocked out the electricity in the bunker, so he gathered Castiel, Sam, and Amina in the library to watch over all of them together.

"Dean, there's nothing you can do. Please sit down with me," Castiel pleaded from his wheelchair.

He tried, at least. He pulled up a chair beside his angel and felt a hand cover his thigh. Dean neither flinched, nor pulled away from an intimate display of affection, much to his own surprise. He even threaded his fingers through Castiel's, their hands resting on his own thigh. To pass the time, Sam suggested they investigate files Henry Winchester left in the bunker by candlelight. Dean couldn't concentrate but he didn't try to stop any of them from investigating as long as it kept them busy.

"This is ridiculous. We can't just sit here doing nothing," he complained.

Patiently, Castiel argued, "We're not doing nothing. We're the guardians of one hundred forty seven vials of grace. They are still my brothers and sisters. If they are lost, Mother's war is lost. We're doing what's been asked of us."

"One forty six," corrected Sam. He tugged a silver chain from inside his shirt collar and hooked a thumb through it, showing the room a vial of bright white liquid light. "I'm responsible for one."

Castiel's questioning gaze shifted to his sister.

"Yeah," she admitted.

"You decided." His grip on Dean's thigh tensed under the table.

Amina nodded. "I choose this family."

As Dean observed a thousand unspoken things pass between Castiel and Amina exactly the way he and Sam often communicated without a word, he thought he understood what transpired, but he asked, "Wait. You mean you're choosing to stay human?"

"I am. It's tradition to give your grace, if you still have it after you fall, to a trusted protector."

Sam's thin-lipped smile appeared over a file he pretended to read through old pages. He tucked the vile back into his shirt. "I have a feeling this Roberta woman can help us if she really did see the Virgin Mary," he said, clearly diverting the subject. "I just hope she's still alive. I'm having trouble finding her paper trail at all."

"All humans have birth records, don't they?" asked Amina as she leaned back in her chair and flipped her legs up on the table.

"They're supposed to but I haven't found anything for Roberta yet," Sam replied.

Slow, rolling thunder outside culminated in an explosive climax as if cannons were planted in the road. Four heads turned toward the door despite not being able to see anything. And when it happened again, the floor vibrated. Candle flames throughout the library shook, and dust snowed from the ceiling. In unison, they looked up as if they expected the bunker to cave in on them.

"Feels like World War II," Sam commented quietly.

"You think we can see anything on the cameras?" Dean asked in a secretive tone.

"This is not something I wish to see," said Castiel with his head bowed.

It was Dean's turn to cover his thigh with a comforting hand. Even if the angel had wanted to witness the battle, Dean didn't think he would have allowed it. Their commitment made the need to protect each other all the more prominent and it didn't need to be articulated. Even Dean knew that kind of intimacy was rare.

"Be right back." He pecked Castiel's cheek - as far as he was willing to go in front of other people - and headed for the other room.

The fuzzy black and white monitors cast shadows in motion through the other room as Dean approached. If no one had told him they were security cameras, he would have thought the images were of a graphic war movie. Angels in every type of vessel slammed away at each other right outside his home. With each blast of thunder, an angel hurled a ball of light at another angel. The low quality camera feed meant a temporary white out every time it happened. The last thing he wanted was to trigger Castiel's fear, so he bit his lip to stop any reaction.

But a familiar figure on the bottom right monitor stopped Dean's heart. He hurled himself at the shelf, watching Bastet fighting four angels on her own. Bloody gashes covered her arms and legs but she remained upright and swinging.

Before he realized what he was doing, Dean bolted into the library again. His legs never stopped once, even as he grabbed a demon blade and an angel blade from the middle of the table.

"What the hell you doing?" Sam demanded.

"Dean?" Castiel said but his voice seemed low and resigned. He knew.

As he swung open the front door, he flipped the blades in each hand, taking on a combative stance. Part of him always believed his natural state was in the thick of fighting for someone else's life more than his own. That goddess had sacrificed herself once so that he and his angel could live. There was no way in hell he was going to abandon her now.

Deadly calm crept over his mind as he hurled himself into the battle. It wasn't hard to tell the difference between God's angels and the Virgin Mary's angels. God's angels wore the shining armor he had seen in the dust cloud. The Virgin Mary's angels brandished four foot long swords that he had never seen before, but somehow knew they were just as powerful as the angel blade he carried.

And of course, it was easiest to discern the enemy from comrade when they tried to kill you on sight.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he heard Sam, Amina, and Castiel calling out to him from within the bunker. He vaguely recalled shouting out to them to stay inside, to barricade the door. The last thing he needed was to worry about one of them getting hurt in addition to Bastet or even himself. The blood of countless angels splattered over Dean's clothes and skin as he slashed his way toward her.

"I told you to stay inside!" Bastet growled the second she spun and set eyes on him.

But before he could respond, an angel contained in a massive vessel almost pouring out of its armor swung at her from behind. The impact hit her at the middle of her back and the force of it snapped her head backwards as the rest of her body flung forward onto the ground. She collapsed in an unconscious heap.

Dean and the giant angel locked eyes in a suspended moment of time. His face hardened in rage and he flipped the blades in each hand once again, throwing his entire weight at the enemy.

It all blurred. He was but a tiny piece of a massive battle raging across the Kansas wilderness, yet he felt responsible for all of it. Two, then three angels fell in rapid succession under his hand. A quick slash across the giant angel's throat sent blood spurting from his vessel's arteries and he collapsed, bleeding out in seconds.

Dean's goal shifted from killing as many as possible to getting Bastet back to the bunker where it was safe. He stooped and rolled her over to pick her up, but something snatched the back of his shirt. The force lifted Dean clear off his feet, and in the chaos, his brain couldn't compute how a six-foot-two man like him got hoisted in the air so easily. Then part of that force grabbed his forearms and latched them behind his back. Another angel stalked forward and sneered, taking the blade that Dean had used to kill so many of them.

Stormy gray eyes glittered with delight. "God's been waiting for you, boy," the angel said as he pulled back, ready to strike. "How many times did he bring your precious angel back only to have the both of you rebel like this? Oh yes, God's been waiting for you."

"Do it, then," Dean growled. "I've got a few things to say to God too."

Out of his peripheral vision, another angel flew at the scene. Built like a long beanpole, he did not wear armor. He slashed at the neck of God's angel with the stunning, long sword, and the head flew a good fifteen feet through the air. The second God's angel died, the force holding the hostage let go and his body dropped to the ground, hard. So hard, in fact, that it stunned him. His head smacked the ground and dizziness blinded him.

He felt himself lifted off the ground once more. Moving, floating even? Dean's hand went to his right temple and touched the hot stickiness of his own blood.

"Bastet!" was the only thing he managed to shout.

"Her Grace is being brought along straight away," replied a voice all around him, so calm and velvety.

Through the dizziness, Dean vaguely realized he was brought back into the bunker and the door shut behind them without human hands. The silence only offered a second of peace. Ringing in his ears bled through the panicked voices of his family. Something laid him out on the cold hard floor and he tried to focus. Wheels. Castiel's arms shoved his wheelchair closer and closer as Amina barked orders at Sam.

Castiel stared at something over Dean's head. His mouth fell open and his eyes registered the most shock anyone had seen him express.

"Madriel?" he breathed.

"Hello, Castiel," the smooth voice replied.

Amina's fingers had been planted on the artery of Dean's neck, measuring his pulse, but her eyes darted from her brother to the stranger he still hadn't seen yet.

"Hello, Amina," the voice greeted her.

And then, Dean felt his consciousness slip away.

Blackness. Silence. Peace.

*****

"Dean!" Sam shouted, panicked.

Shit. Not _again_. Shit.

Amina calmly reached for Sam and squeezed his hand. To the tall, thin angel man, she said, "Madriel, please."

He nodded, kneeling over Dean's head. Two fingers tapped his bloody forehead just the way Castiel had healed both of them more than once. The damage to Dean's skull corrected itself before their eyes, yet he remained motionless on the floor.

"He's fine now," Madriel said, eyes lifting to Castiel in the wheelchair.

"Thank you," Castiel replied. He exhaled. Relief?

It didn't seem right. Fine but unconscious still? Sam sank to the floor and peered at his brother's weathered, silent features. "Why isn't he awake?"

"This body craves sleep. Humans depend on it, don't they?" said the angel Madriel. "He will wake in twelve hours time. Mary requests that all of you maintain good health, especially the Righteous Man, to be effective in the final stages of her ascension."

"He's just asleep," Sam repeated.

"Yes. I'm on the right side, Sam." Madriel's eyes narrowed. He squinted weirdly like Castiel and Amina but something different, hidden, lingered in his stare.

"You weren't always on the right side," said Castiel. "The last time we met, you threw a spear at me in the name of Raphael. Am I wrong?"

And there it was. Sam heard the distinct sound of the other shoe dropping.

Chuckling without a care in the world, Madriel rose from the floor and plucked his pocket square to wipe Dean's blood from his hands. His vessel had money, judging by the suit, not unlike the way Crowley dressed. He didn't answer Castiel's accusation but merely chuckled as if reminiscing on an old family reunion.

"Are you healing, brother?" Madriel strolled around the wheelchair and touched all five fingertips to Castiel's chest.

Sam flinched. He felt protective of the angel he'd come to consider his brother but Amina tugged his hand. He stilled. He didn't like it, of course, but he trusted her judgment. Light illuminated Madriel's fingertips and he closed his eyes.

"Mh-hmm," he mumbled like a doctor making a diagnosis. "Almost healed. Mother is quite pleased with your fortitude." He gave Castiel's shoulder a congratulatory pat. "Go ahead and try healing yourself in the morning. You should be fine. You ought to consider joining the cause. We need skilled commanders just now."

"Is it going badly?" questioned Amina.

"No. The fact that God chose to draw the fight to Earth is quite telling of who's going badly here. Morale is low, I hear, and dragging the Righteous Man to Heaven was God's effort to rally the troops." He chortled as he moved toward Bastet's limp body on the floor near Dean's feet. "He couldn't even kill the kitty today. So no, sister, our war is not going badly at all. More than half of Heaven is destroyed but," he shrugged, "what can you do?"

Attention to Bastet tensed Amina into the crook of Sam's arm. "D-Dean will want to know if that c- _cat_ will live."

"Of course," replied Madriel. "She's a goddess. There's only one way to kill her. The fight only stunned her. Give her a bed until she regains consciousness."

"I can't," Amina said, shuddering.

"I'll do it," Sam said.

"A man of action. Sexy. Well chosen, sister." The angel Madriel actually winked at Sam as he lazily ambled around the room.

Sudden shifting gears in Madriel's mind stopped him at the library table covered in files. He plucked the black and white photograph of Henry Winchester and Roberta Watley dancing together. He stared, color draining from his vessel's face, and his expression shifted to distrust aimed at the lot of them.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded of Castiel.

The blue-eyed angel spun his wheelchair and squinted. "Why do you care?"

"I care when your lover is hunting angels of  _my_ garrison who have been missing in action for decades!" The sudden burst of rage exploded dead lightbulbs throughout the room.

Instinctively, Sam threw himself over Amina to shield her from the shards of glass. Castiel, however, scarcely blinked at the reaction.

"Angel? No, no, that's my grandfather and his mistress," Sam said.

Madriel's icy eyes focused on Sam and he chuckled again. "Stupid boy." He held up the photograph and pointed at Roberta, speaking like Sam was a fourth grader. "This is Magdalena. She served in my garrison until she disappeared in 1954. We took her for dead. Clearly she was alive as of - what does this scribbling say - 1957, yes?"

"Yeah." Dumbfounded, honestly, Sam couldn't articulate any kind of intelligent response. "You're not in Cas' garrison?" Of all the questions to ask. Really? He internally kicked himself.

Outright laughter filled the candlelit room. "Amina, he's a man of action for sure, but he's not a great thinker. You really think he's worth mortality, dear sister?"

"Okay, we're done." Amina stomped toward the front door and ripped it open. "This is my family now. And he is as good as my husband. You insult my family and we're done. Get out."

"Look at you, so clouded by weak carnal impulses." Madriel's tongue clicked the roof of his mouth and he shook his head.

Now it was Castiel's turn to fly into an overprotective brotherly rage. Sam remained by Dean's body on the floor but he nearly fell over with shock the second Castiel bolted from the wheelchair. A burst of white light engulfed his vessel. The flash hurt Sam's eyes and he turned away until it faded, but by the time he looked again, Castiel had Madriel shoved against a wall by fistfuls of his expensive suit.

"You haven't changed. You're still a murderer seeking your best advantage in a winning cause. You care nothing for Mother Mary's war aside from what you can gain from it." He shook Madriel, face curled and twisted in the most menacing snarl. "How do I know you didn't allow Dean to get hurt on purpose?"

"You don't." Madriel smiled, unfazed.

The possibility that Dean getting hurt wasn't just a product of war sent Castiel so deep into the black pit of rage that he actually scared Sam. Blue eyes danced with electric fire. Light poured from his irises. Such a beautiful blue could kill with little more than a thought, all because other angels tried to harm Dean. And in that moment, a brief few seconds, really, Sam finally understood the depth of devotion and love that Castiel felt for his big brother.

"Are you playing Father and Mother against each other?" he snarled.

Madriel chuckled again. "I'm just a squirrel trying to get a nut, loverboy."

"Castiel..." Amina attempted to intervene.

"Get the hell out of my house," Castiel growled, sounding shockingly human as he walked away.  _Walked_ away. "If I ever see you again, Madriel, I will kill you. We are not brothers."

"You always were Mommy's little pet." Rustling wings sent Madriel away.


	25. Come Back To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (NC-17) Dean wakes to find Castiel perfectly healed and restored as an angel, at least physically. Something is still off about his mental condition, but Dean does his best to walk him through it. He struggles to give up his role as caretaker as Castiel has much more appetizing ideas about returning to a sense of normality. They take advantage of Sam and Amina being out for the day, in the kitchen, on the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Sam finally gets to buy his own car and he joyrides around northern Kansas with his lady. Their conversation quickly turns serious, talking about the future after the war, and the two of them make rather serious plans together. How will all of this change the Winchester brothers though?

Slowly, as if drugged, Dean awoke, not knowing how or when he'd ended up in bed. Who the hell undressed him? And where was Castiel? He sat up and noticed three antiquated oil lamps illuminating their bedroom, yet the other half of the bed sat cold and empty. Clearly, the electricity was still out, whatever time it was. Not having any windows in the bunker certainly disoriented him.

He grabbed a shirt off the floor, probably dirty but whatever, and searched for Castiel. The lack of electricity plunged the bunker into blackness, and Dean groped his way down the hall until he found the stairs, light pouring up from the candlelit main hall.

"Cas?" he shouted. "Sammy? Amina?"

No one answered, but he heard rustling near the kitchen. Dean found Castiel in the laundry room they'd created from an old butler's pantry. The angel knelt on the floor, his back turned, as if he had never been at death's door. Wings plunged back across the floor like black tails of a trench coat. He dug through a box but Dean couldn't see much over the hulking wings no matter which way he leaned. Abruptly, the streak of shredded blue material caked in dried blood flung against the washer in a burst of Castiel's apparent anger.

"Cas?" Dean said. "You're healed... Where are Sammy and Amina?"

"They went to buy the car Sam found." He sounded distracted.

Dean stepped closer between his wings. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for my ring," he said, hand shooting up, wiggling the naked finger. "I didn't want them to take it from me. Before they did ... what they did ... I was in a holding room and I took it off. I put it in my pocket."

Okay, so he wasn't interested in celebrating that he apparently healed himself or that Dean survived the battle. He had a lot of questions about what happened in the fight and who the angel was that rescued him too, but Castiel's distress pushed its way to the forefront. Dean dropped behind his angel, legs tightly squeezed around his back, and hands rubbing his shoulders.

"It's okay."

"It's _not_ okay. You trusted me to keep it. It was important to you, Dean."

He leaned close, body pressed around Castiel's, and unconsciously ran a hand down his wing. "Not as important as your life."

Those occasional fluctuations in Castiel's emotions ebbed and flowed a lot more since he came back from Heaven. Of course, Dean knew humans struggled with unstable emotions because of post-traumatic stress, but he didn't realize a missing ring could send an angel into such a fit of distress. Granted, that ring had actually been quite important to Dean and he'd given it to Castiel the night they committed to each other, but its importance paled in comparison to his angel's life.

"I'll get you a new ring. One you choose yourself," Dean offered.

"It's not the same." Castiel's hands ducked into pocket after pocket of his old clothes. "Wait..." He dug into the lining of what was left of his jacket. A tense second and then he produced the missing ring. The heaviest sigh of relief came through him, making Dean feel it in his own body, even though the ring looked unrecognizable. Once silver, dried cemented chunks of blood turned it a sickening, sticky brown. But at least he found it.

"See, it's still here." Dean placated him, of course, but it had to be done until he could handle stress again. "Lemme have it. I'll wash it up."

Dean took the ring through the narrow doorway to the kitchen sink, as Castiel followed, and he rubbed a soapy sponge over it. The ring slowly shined again in the palm of his hand.

"Does your head ache, Dean?" Castiel's gentle hand ruffled his hair.

"A little. I feel like I've been drugged more than anything. But I'm friggin thrilled you're up and walking again. Too bad I missed you healing. I would've liked to see that," he said casually without looking up. "You wanna fill me in on what happened after I blacked out yesterday? Sammy's okay, right? I mean, I guess so if he's out buying a car with his girlfriend. He's been wanting a car forever."

As Dean scrubbed the grime off the ring and rambled about his brother, he failed to notice the terrified stillness that overcame the angel standing beside him. He didn't respond to the questions, nor did he even feel present in the kitchen. Dean glanced over and saw Castiel so motionless, as if playing dead, and staring at the sink as if a snake coiled up ready to strike. He followed the angel's gaze to a silver butter knife absently lying in the bottom of the sink with other scattered dirty dishes. And then he noticed Castiel's fists tightly balled at his sides, knuckles white with tension.

"Cas?" Dean said in a careful tone. "You okay?"

Castiel didn't respond. He didn't seem to know Dean even stood there.

Cautious not to startle him with quick movements, Dean plucked the butter knife from the sink and stowed it out of sight in the silverware drawer. He remembered Amina telling him that angels who endured reprogramming usually developed strange phobias. A silver butter knife couldn't hurt Castiel but it certainly resembled tools they used on him.

"You're okay, Cas," he offered, but still received no response. Dean grabbed the ring again and managed to unclench Castiel's right hand, sliding it back home on his third finger. "Hey, Cas, it's okay. Look, the knife's gone. C'mon, take a breath." Unusual patience developed way down deep in Dean since Castiel came home like a shell-shocked soldier. His hand splayed over the angel's chest, which finally brought eye contact from him. "Come back to me...."

Castiel blinked. And then clouds parted in his eyes. A trembling sort of long breath escaped him as he slowly realized what happened. Though his fists relaxed, his hands shook with a very human burst of adrenalin. Fear faded in his blue eyes only to be replaced by dark shadows of intense shame.

"M-m-my apologies, Dean," he stammered, rubbing the wicked shakes out of his hands.

"Shit happens. Butter knives are bad. Now we know." Dean shrugged and downplayed the incident if only to keep the angel from feeling the embarrassment that he knew he'd feel in that position. "You okay now?"

"Yes." Castiel nodded but he nervously peered into the sink, presumably for more hidden butter knives. "I don't know what happened."

"Well, Amina said you'd have weird fears for a while. You're okay though." Dean decided it couldn't hurt to keep reminding him that he was safe until he stopped shaking.

As if cold or even numb, Castiel rubbed his hands together, but slowly, the tension drained from his shoulders. "Thank you for cleaning up my ring. Your ring, I mean."

"No, it's yours now," Dean replied. "You didn't get hurt yesterday, did you? Or Sammy?"

"No, we all escaped uninjured except you and Bastet. She was only stunned and left at dawn." Though color returned to Castiel's face, he still seemed distracted. "The one who rescued you was called Madriel. I saw him last among Raphael's army. He's not to be trusted. He was just looking for an advantage somewhere and then he identified Roberta Watley as..."

Dean listened intently. "As what?"

Castiel's eyes met Dean's with renewed clarity. "An angel. Magdalena. She disappeared from his garrison in 1954 and they assumed she had been killed. I'm certain he's hunting her now. If she did in fact have an amorous bond with your grandfather, then her garrison had orders to execute her, like us."

"Then we have to find her before he does," replied Dean resolutely.

Head tilted, Castiel studied his reaction. "You don't seem surprised."

"Honestly? Nothing surprises me at this point. We've seen a whole lot of crazy shit together, haven't we?"

"Yes."

Dean shrugged, offering a smirk. "So Granddad had an affair with an angel. I guess it's a family tradition then."

Finally, that got a relaxed smile out of Castiel, who nodded and chuckled in return. The joke swept away some of the heavy anxiety hanging over the kitchen. Spontaneously, Castiel clutched Dean around the shoulders and the waist, making Dean do the same, and they embraced tightly with their hearts pressed together. He felt the angel let go and even his enormous black wings drained of tension. Castiel's face nuzzled Dean's neck. They each released a deep breath and inhaled each other's scent mingled with the roses of healed angelic grace.

"You're sure you're okay?" murmured Dean.

"Yes," Castiel whispered.

"Did you smite that Madriel dick?"

His smiled against Dean's shoulder. "No, but he insulted Sam and Amina, so I grabbed him by the throat and threw him against a wall."

"Hot. Too bad I missed it." The hunter's heart beat a little faster.

"It felt good to fight back again," Castiel admitted.

"I bet. It's been a while."

"Yes."

The angel peeled back from the embrace just enough to meet Dean's eyes, his expression communicating something much more intimate than how long it had been since he smited anything. Eyes slipping shut, Castiel braced his hands along Dean's jaw and pressed their foreheads together. Silent, Dean realized he'd been a caretaker for more than a month and he struggled to switch tracks back into partner and lover. He found himself constantly on watch for the next flashback, the next encounter with a trigger like a butter knife, or the next fever brought on by wounded grace.

"Relax, Dean," he whispered.

The hunter sighed. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Something bad--"

"--No." Castiel cut him off with fingertips on his lips. "Sam and Amina will be gone all afternoon. We don't have anything pressing on us at this moment. I can't feel much, Dean, but I feel for you. You anchor me to humanity. I need us to be us, to feel normal again." His blue eyes swept over Dean's face and dove inside of him in that way only he had the power to do. "Your amorous attachment hasn't altered, has it?"

The doubt in his eyes made Dean scoff, perhaps a defensive reaction to the clear emotion Castiel conveyed. He dropped his own eyes, smirking, but the other part of him buried under eight tons of nicotine, old booze, and crap understood the angel's new insecurity. He shared it. Six weeks ago, no one but Sam knew about their relationship, and they shared a tight bubble of security, hidden away in motel rooms. Now... Now it all felt so different. He spent a month fighting to keep Castiel's vessel alive and pushed aside his own needs. What were his needs anymore?

"Dean--"

"--I love you, Cas," he blurted. It was the only true thing he knew.

Blinking, Castiel pulled Dean's face up by the chin. "You're still certain?"

"Yeah." But he honestly couldn't make himself verbalize much more.

"Are we still in this together?"

Dean nodded. So did Castiel. But neither of them moved at first, both more than a little anxious. It felt like the first time all over again and Dean understood how long six weeks could feel in a committed relationship. It required work to build and maintain. Jesus, he thought it was all a cliche.

"Stop thinking so hard, Dean," the angel whispered.

Squinting back at Castiel with a smirk, he replied, "Some things are back to normal, huh? Back in my head again."

It amused Castiel apparently. The corner of his mouth twitched and he brought his finger to his lips with a drawn out  _shh_. He turned Dean's hand over in his own, exposing his inner wrist to the air. Soft lips brushed Dean's skin and traversed the underside of his forearm with the slow sort of kisses that let him savor it. Dean found he savored it just as much, breath hitching in his throat, and he watched the faintest shimmer of bluish-white light coat his skin. He'd forgotten the warmth and ache hitting the perfect notes in his body, vibrating like a tuning fork. Something in him began to remember.

"Don't hurt yourself," he managed to caution.

Castiel lips opened in a smile against Dean's wrist. "It doesn't hurt."

"Okay..." It sounded like a strangled groan rather than a word. "Bed?"

"I've had enough of beds for quite a while."

Clearly, the angel knew what he wanted and, for once, Dean didn't feel the need to direct him. Castiel tugged the black t-shirt over Dean's head, throwing it behind him toward the laundry room, but missing the target entirely. It didn't matter. The thought barely connected in Dean's brain as his entire blood supply followed Castiel's hand to the front of his jeans. Dean's body remembered them together faster than his brain did as he leaned into the palm rubbing his cock through his zipper.

Wet lips bitten by arousal opened into each other and their kiss passed into the depth and intimacy that no one else would ever see. Dean remembered. They put themselves through hell for that moment - the ability to feel what came naturally to them. Though he would always struggle to verbalize it, he did love Castiel like no one else, and his arms latched so tightly around him that it might have hurt if he wasn't a powerful angel. Without words, Castiel seemed to understand and passed loving fingertips through Dean's short hair. Their kiss briefly parted long enough to see into each other's eyes, noses brushing against each other, and arms unwilling to let go.

"I could fall for you," Castiel whispered. It sounded spontaneous but the tone of his deep voice turned so tender that he'd clearly still been thinking about it.

Dean wanted to tell him not to say anything he'd regret, or warn him against making promises he couldn't keep, but he couldn't force his voice through his throat. He silenced Castiel instead, quickly tugging off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. Then hands framed the angel's face and he kissed him too intensely for words to matter.

A burst of air swept behind Dean and his head spun, pulling away from the kiss with a wet smack. He turned just in time to see the last sweep of Castiel's long raven wing throwing everything off the kitchen table. A few scattered books and Amina's plastic green flower pot hit the floor. He glanced back at Castiel questioningly, who locked determined eyes with him and pushed him back against the table.

Before Dean could protest, he found himself on his back and wondering if the kitchen table could support his weight as Castiel hovered over him. The angel grabbed fistfuls of Dean's jeans and underwear, stripping him without ceremony. As an absent thought, he kicked off the remainder of his own clothes, standing possessively between Dean's thighs as his legs dangled to the floor. It should have made him shy away, the manner of Castiel openly drinking in the sight of his naked body, his cock hard and curving toward his belly, but Dean returned the long stare.

And then, quicker than a blink, Castiel's wings rustled. He disappeared.

"Cas? The hell?"

But Dean only sat up halfway before the rustling wings brought Castiel back with a tube in his hand. He'd gone to their bedroom. Dean smirked, realizing he should have remembered what they needed.

Castiel's hand clawed around the back of Dean's neck as he sat on the table, pulling him in for a possessive kiss. Tingly grace passed into his mouth like tingling smoke as silky and hot as it was liquid without spilling. The angelic grace felt like every element all at once and passed into Dean's very human body like a sponge soaking up water on the counter. He wanted to caution his angel against using his grace so soon but the heady sensations blurred his reasonable mind.

Leaning back on his hands, Dean observed intently as Castiel kissed a wet, illuminated path down his throat, over his clavicle. Dean bit his lip to ground himself despite the steadily overwhelming need to overpower Castiel and fuck him. He wanted to watch Castiel play with him though. The angel slid a hand up Dean's rib cage as his insistent mouth focused on the anti-possession tattoo. Light kisses sharpened into sucking bright bluish-white bruises of light around the tattoo's border as if creating his own ring of protection for Dean.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered as long as Castiel kept up the attention they'd both been starved of for more than a month. Dean grabbed his waist and yanked him close until he fit in the snug space between his thighs. So tightly fit against each other, a pair of furiously hardened cocks stood straight up right between their bellies, the slightest friction bringing out sharp gasps and muffled moans. Dean's hips jutted forward of their own need to relieve pressure. He licked his palm and snaked a hand between them. Simultaneously, he clamped a fist around both their cocks and stroked, going hazy with the passable temporary relief.

Haphazardly, Castiel squeezed a glob of lube in his hand from the tube he'd retrieved from the bedroom. He seemed suddenly impatient as he all but threw Dean back on the kitchen table, releasing his grip on their cocks. Castiel gave a few lazy tugs along his length to silence any protests but his focus fell on readying Dean's hole for him.

"I missed you, Dean," he murmured as he bent to leave messy, sucking kisses along his hip bone.

A longing groan answered him as Dean threw an arm over his head and grabbed the edge of the table. Legs spreading open, he hiked a foot up on the table and opened himself to whatever Castiel wanted to do with him. The angel's long fingers rewarded Dean by pressing the bundle of nerves with each pass inside of him. Ragged breath grew into moans, wordlessly pleading to be filled. Somewhere in his desire, he watched the angel spreading over him with wings hulking larger, as if growing outward with arousal.

Suddenly, Castiel pulled out his fingers and hooked his wrists under Dean's thighs, lifting his legs up and apart. Dean couldn't fight that kind of strength even if he wanted to try. The head of Castiel's cock teased Dean's slick hole, lazily, as if proving he knew what he was doing.

"Damn it, Cas," he growled through clenched teeth, eyes hooded.

A wicked smile lifted the corner of the angel's mouth. "What?"

"Do it!"

"Do what, Dean?" The bastard swirled his hips, just slightly.

A stuttering groan spilled into the words, "Fuck me, Cas," knowing that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

Dean swore he heard a low chuckle of satisfaction but he couldn't be sure over the pounding of his own heart and the drumming of blood rushing through his ears. No one ever broke him down brick by brick the way Castiel did, and as the angel thrust into him, Dean couldn't string any coherent thoughts together anymore. His white-knuckled grip over his head on the table gave him stability as Castiel, emitting short groans, erratically pumped into him.

It had been so long for both of them that perhaps they each knew it couldn't last long. Dean burned all of it into his memory, tasting how perfect and precious every second was with Castiel, who, in turn, kept enough concentration in tact to gaze down at the hunter spread out on the kitchen table.

Castiel licked his lips, looking beautifully corrupted by lust, and he dropped one of Dean's legs. Without breaking stride, he brought his palm to his lips and breathed a measure of grace light. He smirked, having clearly learned that expression recently, and wrapped his hand around the base of Dean's cock. The mixed sensations of being thoroughly fucked into the kitchen table and his cock stroked by a strong hand coated in silky, blazing grace left Dean hoarse and gasping for air.

The more ripped apart he appeared, the harder Castiel's pelvis slammed into his, until the table's legs squeaked in short bursts on the floor. Neither of them could speak. Their moans tangled together and spiraled out of control.

Tension coiled into a hot sensation deep in Dean's body. So deep, in fact, that he couldn't pinpoint it. He chased that addictive sensation into meeting each of Castiel's thrusts. It felt as if his own soul exploded, bursting wide open, at the moment Castiel's hips stuttered and curled to slide as deeply into Dean as he could. Castiel shot bursts of hot come into Dean with a series of needful groans, yet Dean, unable to stop himself from coming as well, felt the agonizingly perfect burn of grace spilling into him. Wings curled in and out with the last waves of mutual orgasm, open grace exposed to open soul, and Dean absently thought the curling wings must have been like curling toes.

Used up, limp, and cast over the kitchen table like a rag, Dean slowed his breathing before he got too dizzy. Castiel panted loudly as well, leaning back against the counter, his hands braced on the edge of the sink. He watched Dean with concern.

"Was that too rough?" he asked eventually.

Dean's chuckle sounded thick with afterglow. "Hell no. I'd give you a standing ovation and a beer if I could get up."

Chuckling in return, Castiel rounded the table and bent for an upside down kiss. "Thank you for telling me you love me, Dean. I know you struggle with articulating that sort of sentiment."

"And who knew you like dirty talk?" Dean teased, covering his emotion with a joke.

"I like making you say what you honestly feel," the angel corrected.

Dean smirked. "I honestly feel like I need a smoke."

*****

"You look very pleased with yourself, Mr. Winchester."

A closed-mouth smile lifted Sam's mouth. "I am. I rarely get my own car."

"Why not?" Amina peered at him curiously from the passenger seat, her hand flowing through the wind of her open window. Sunlight caught the golden strands of hair threading through her dark mane.

He shrugged. "The Impala's Dean's car. He's protective. It's his baby."

"Well, now you have your own baby."

The smile appeared again. "My car or you?"

"Both." Amina smiled too - he saw it from the corner of his eye. "You wanna learn to drive?"

She hesitated as if the idea never occurred to her. "Can I?"

"Sure, why not? When I get back into hunting, somebody's gonna have to look after my baby." He patted and rubbed the dash. "Dean hates riding in anything made after 1975. You watch - he's gonna give me shit for buying a 2007 Avenger. Not only is it a Dodge, not Chevy, but it's newer. He'll say it's a douche car." He shrugged again. "I like it. I can finally afford payments even if it is just a used car, and it's safe for you to use when I'm gone working after the war ends. It makes sense."

"Do you ... um ... do you plan on being gone a lot?" she asked.

"Not as much as I was gone before I had you." Sam glanced over at his girlfriend and recognized the insecurity she tried to cover with understanding eyes. "My brother and I lived on the road before all this happened. We never had a home, you know?"

"Yeah." Amina nodded.

He shook his head. "I don't wanna drag you all over the country like that. It's not a real life. I don't know what Dean and Cas are planning for themselves, but I'm not dragging you into this life if I can help it. I'd rather cut back and make sure you have a stable home. It's important to me too. That was where I was headed before Dean pulled me back into the life. I can't give it up completely though. We save lives, Mina. We do good. But I think we can work out a balance with a stable home base and I can still work cases with my brother."

"What will I do?" She asked the question, apparently not as a protest, but an innocent plea for guidance.

"What do you want to do?" Sam probed. "Have you thought about nursing any more?"

"Well, yeah, I have...." A sliding sort of bashful smile appeared as if she thought she wasn't allowed to consider her own needs. "I've thought about it frequently."

"...And?"

"And I took your laptop about a week ago when you were sleeping," she admitted. "I did some research. There's a nursing school in Topeka - that's the closest one to us - and there's a bigger one in Kansas City. I felt excitement, honestly. The idea of emergency medicine is like battlefield medicine and I know I could do it. But I couldn't live here in Lebanon, Sam. The only level one trauma center is in Kansas City. I could become a midwife and do that anywhere you are though."

Sam nodded occasionally as she talked. He sighed at the idea of moving, but his mind turned over the possibilities. "Emergency nursing is what you want, so that's what you should do. What about Lawrence?"

"Who's that?"

"Not who. Where. It's about a forty minute drive from Kansas City. Not too bad. Dean and I were born there." The idea of moving Amina to his hometown and maybe attempting a good life appealed to him. Sort of like coming full circle.

Amina seemed to consider it too. "Is it nice?"

"It's beautiful. Bigger than Lebanon but not huge like Kansas City. It's about four hours from here, so I could come for research and working cases without too much trouble. I mean, Dean likes living in the bunker, I think, but it's ... I dunno ... not a real home. Cas doesn't know any better. I dunno how Dean'll take it, us moving...."

"You're a grown man, aren't you?" she asked in a careful tone.

Sam chuckled. "Of course I am, but we've only ever had each other. We've  _always_ been together except when I went to college or when one of us died." That sounded weird.

Patiently, Amina nodded and reached for the hand resting on his thigh. "I know. You've both had impossible lives." Her voice trailed off and he knew she internally shelved the idea of becoming a nurse. She watched the scenery pass on the interstate, her dark hair blowing in a cloud around her face.

"Baby, I'm not saying no." He caressed her hand under his thumb as he gripped the steering wheel with his other hand. "It's only a couple of hours apart. I'm still gonna work cases with him."

"Maybe he and Castiel would like this Lawrence place too?"

"Maybe." Part of him doubted it though. Dean remembered in vivid detail how their house burned down the night their mother was killed. He wanted to change the subject before thinking about their mother, who would never meet Amina or Castiel, dragged him into despair. "You need an identity first. Paperwork. It's not gonna work applying to college without a last name let alone a birth certificate and school records. We'll have to fake it all, of course."

"You're really going to do this with me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Glancing her way again, Sam brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. "You wanna get married?"

" _What_?!" Amina slung forward as if he slammed on the brakes.

"You need a last name," he said nonchalantly.

Stunned into silence, Amina's eyes shifted to the eighteen wheeler changing lanes in front of them. "But you're the one who keeps saying you need to use condoms because it's too early."

"It's too early to _have a baby_ ," he corrected, still holding her hand.

"But not too early to get married," she filled in the blank.

"You got another guy in mind?"

"Never." He felt her studying his profile. "You got another girl in mind?"

"Never." It was the truth. "I wanted to marry Jess years ago, but never anyone after her until you. I mean, I guess it's fast, but my life is fast."

"Getting married and becoming an emergency room nurse.... I really am a human woman now...." Amina mumbled it to herself in astonishment as she stared at the horizon.

Sam gave her a minute to absorb it, but then, "Are we doing this?"

"I don't know.... Are we?" She bit her lip, afraid to say yes, he thought, in case he wasn't serious.

"Look, baby, we shouldn't do anything until the war's over, but I've been thinking about it a lot. Nobody's gonna know me and accept me like you. I mean, you know I'm an ex-blood junkie, that I'm part demon, but you're still here. You love me, right?"

"Yes, I love you," she affirmed without hesitation.

"Okay, and I love you too. I mean, I really love you. I feel it everywhere I go." A little more honesty surfaced. "I wanna grab this before something happens and it's gone."

She watched him with those intent blue eyes. "You're afraid of losing me?"

"My track record isn't the greatest."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Whether we're married or not, I'm here and I don't want anyone else." She squeezed his hand tighter. "I'd give my life for you."

She had no idea how hard she hit the nail on the head. A procession of dead women marched through his mind, all of whom died gruesomely after sleeping with the demon boy. He nodded but he couldn't speak for fear of bringing the same fate on Amina. A tense sigh heaved his barrel chest as they covered the last few miles back home.

"I want to marry you, Sam," she said evenly. "But I don't want it to be because you're afraid of losing me."

Sam looked her in the eye as long as he could from behind the wheel. "Baby, I wanna marry you because I love you. We've got a shot at a somewhat normal life. You're the only one who can stand the pressure of my job, you're brave, you're beautiful, and we take care of each other, don't we? You know how I feel with losing my parents. You're patient. Most importantly, you're not afraid to call me on my bullshit. I love how tough and fragile you are at the same time. You make me see the world like I'm new to it again too. I _am_ afraid of losing you, but I'm more afraid of wasting time when I know something's right. Because of you, I understand how far Dean was willing to go for Cas, and I think we have what they do."

"I do too," replied Amina softly, her faint smile never eluding to her intentions.

"It's rare," Sam continued. "You're new to humanity, so you may not know that, but it's true. So yeah, getting married is kinda fast, but I think I knew the day you knocked on the door at the motel in Denver."

The faint smile slid up a little more along one side of Amina's pretty lips covered in sheer pink lipstick. Her eyes brightened, though very little else in her expression showed what she thought. Once he decided what he wanted, he intended to work on her until she shook off the last of her doubts in him.

"Can I have my own maiden name first?" she asked.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Can I have a ring? I see them in my magazines. Women get rings when they say yes."

Sam chuckled and jokingly rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you can have a ring."

"Okay," she said with a statement nod.

His brow lifted, hopeful. "Okay?"

"I'm saying yes. I will marry you, Sam." The smoothness and sincerity of her features, sunlight on her skin bringing out the tiny flecks of green and gold in her eyes all spoke of her conviction. "When the war's over, I will marry you."

Sam flicked the turn signal and pulled his new car off to the shoulder of the interstate. As he put the new car in park, he unsnapped his seatbelt and turned toward the passenger seat as much as he could, considering he stood so much bigger than other men. Hands delved into Amina's hair and she giggled happily into his fervent kisses. There were details to work out later, of course, like the difficult conversation with Dean, and establishing a paper trail for Amina. He intended to ask Castiel since he was her only family left. But it was decided and, kissing her on the side of the interstate, he felt like he found his sense of _home_.

"You're sure?" he asked, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"Yes," she replied.

Sam had to make sure though. "You're twenty-six. I'm thirty. We're looking at, like, fifty years together if we do this. Can you stand my gassy gut, smelly socks, and slobby bedroom for fifty years?"

Laughing, Amina's face brightened with humor as she touched his chest. "I haven't run off yet, have I? And I'm just short of eight billion years old, if you want to get technical."

"Christ, why do you want me at all?" he mumbled, wide-eyed.

She touched his cheek and caressed the stubble. "Your devotion. You're honorable. You love me without demanding my blind obedience."

He took her hand and brought it from his cheek to his mouth. It all settled in him as he kissed each of her fingers. "I already have a ring," he declared as he suddenly remembered. "Dad split up some of Mom's stuff between Dean and me. I've got a couple of her rings. What do you think?"

"I think you better take me home so I can pick one," she replied, smiling.


	26. Magdalena's War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchester brothers, Castiel, and Amina finally locate Roberta Watley, who was Henry Winchester's mistress. They decide to go and confront her before Madriel and the other angels find her, but before they go, Sam tells Dean his big news about Amina. Though Dean has reservations, he knows he can't stop them without becoming a hypocrite. Meanwhile, Castiel takes them to Columbia, Missouri, where Roberta has been hiding since 1958. She resists talking to them at first until she realizes Castiel is an angel like her, though a much higher rank. Eventually, they convince her to tell her story and reveal the truth of what really happened to Henry Winchester. Soon Dean realizes he's much more like the grandfather he never knew than he expected.

Confident strokes drew out the symbol in chalk on the table. Dean watched the intense focus on Castiel's features, his quick movements as he poured holy oil into the bowl, and prepared the ritual. He offered his arm when Castiel needed blood.

Hands braced on the table, Castiel stared into the bowl and spoke, " _Zod ah mah rah na ee es lah gee roh sah_."

Castiel sought Magdalena, aka Roberta Watley, with the spell: "Show yourself within this bitter sting," which Dean understood as if Enochian was his own language again. And although he didn't know what the bitter sting was, Dean felt the concentration and far reaching grace extending out from Castiel to locate her.

Castiel flung backwards a few feet as if he'd been punched in the chest. His eyes closed, his head bent, and he stood in silence.

"Dean? Dean!" shouted Amina from upstairs. "I can't blow dry my hair until the electricity is fixed! What's taking so long?"

The second she appeared on the stairwell in her nightgown with dripping long hair, Dean signaled to her with a finger to his mouth to keep quiet. She approached cautiously and observed her brother.

Castiel opened his eyes, but his brow furrowed in uncertainty.

"What's wrong?" Amina asked.

"Magdalena's not a seraph," he told his sister.

"What's that mean?" interjected Dean.

Amina glanced at Dean patiently. "Each species of angel has a specific summoning ritual. I was what you'd call an authority. Castiel's a seraph." She cast an adoring eye on her brother. "In each nest, we're raised with a fledgling seraph too so we learn to respect their command. He's of the first hierarchy and I was of the second."

"We seraphim once guarded God's throne but we were never allowed to look at Him or speak to Him. When God disappeared, we assimilated into military command permanently," explained Castiel without emotion as he erased the chalk sigil from the table. "We're close to the highest rank. Archangels are above us but most of the host is below us."

Amina nodded and picked up her species then. "Authorities are the keepers of history, we put ideas into documents - you know I told you, Dean, that I was an archivist. We're also the ones who guard the border between Heaven and Earth from demonic attack."

"And what you just did was summoning other seraphs?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Castiel paused, turning the matter over in his mind, and then consulted with his sister. "I highly doubt she's of the third. Surely not that low. Madriel wouldn't be so offended by her unless she was working directly beneath him."

"I agree," Amina said. "That would make her my equal. I should go with you when you find her. She'll find you too intimidating being a seraph."

Castiel nodded. "That might be to our advantage."

As they theorized and planned, Dean studied the photograph of Magdalena dancing with his grandfather under the guise of Roberta Watley. "What are the types in the second hierarchy?"

"Dominions, virtues, and authorities like me," said Amina. "Think of us like middle management. The dominions manage lower angels and preside over earthly nations, but it's incredibly rare that they actually visit here. The virtues preside over the natural world, they manage miracles based on orders from superiors, and they give grace to saints. Most of them inspire the arts and--"

"--Virtue. She's a virtue," Dean declared. Using that psychic shit was something he swore he'd never do. He abandoned the photograph on the table, saying, "Find her, Cas. I'm gonna see if Sammy needs help."

Amina and Castiel exchanged knowing glances but Dean didn't hang around long enough to be questioned about what he'd done.

Down in the basement, he followed a steady stream of swearing in the dark. A flashlight beam shot around erratically and finally dropped on the floor, completely useless, as he approached his brother. The six-foot-four wall of a shadow bent over a generator.

"Who's there?" he barked.

"Me," Dean replied. "Where'd the flashlight go?"

"I dunno. I can't see anything."

"Shit. Okay, don't move," the older brother instructed.

Dean rolled his shoulders and outstretched his right arm enough to see the outline of his fist. He forced his focus onto each spot where Castiel marked him with grace the previous day, pushing the light toward his palm. White, smoky liquid danced up between his fingers. He closed those fingers into his fist and shifted his light into a steady glow like the old haze of a lantern. The glow steadily brightened until he learned to maintain the intensity and illuminate their surroundings without draining the grace in his body.

"How the hell'd you do that?" Sam stared openly, not even trying to be polite about it.

"Figured it out in Heaven. Doesn't take much grace to do it." He shrugged, downplaying the increasing freakish nature of his life.

"Things are going well with Cas, then, clearly," he mumbled as he crouched to look under the machinery.

"Don't give me any shit, Sammy."

The younger Winchester retreated into himself just then. Dean felt it. He felt words forming in his brother's throat but knew fear blocked them. As he held out his fist like a torch, he gave Sam a few minutes to gather his courage but it soon became apparent that he wasn't going to spill it. And Dean knew he would never have sensed his brother's mental state like that if he wasn't an empath, just like he knew he would never have identified Magdalena's angel species without it either.

"You're not telling me something," Dean blurted suddenly.

A head popped up from over the generator and Sam looked as if he'd been caught stealing. "You really are empathic, huh?"

"Don't change the subject. We've got shit to do today."

"Okay, fine," Sam conceded, his expression completely steady but a flair of rebellion rose in him. He swallowed it down just as quick. "I'm gonna marry Mina when all this is over."

"What?"

"I'm still gonna hunt with you and she's going to school. She wants to be an emergency room nurse." The wrench slipped and he cursed again.

Dean stammered, conflicted by his own shock battling with Sam's absolute certainty. He swallowed hard, trying to untangle their emotions. "You got any clue what you're getting into here? I tried this with Lisa and Ben. They almost got killed because of me. Amina's always gonna be a weak spot for you. And when she gets pregnant? Do you know how fast monsters, angels, and demons are gonna use that to get to you?"

"So, what, I'm supposed to dump her and spend my whole life on the road until something inevitably kills me?" He scoffed.

"You know what it means to be a hunter. We don't get the apple pie life. We  _save_ the people living their apple pie lives from things they don't even believe exist."

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Really? Then are you gonna dump Cas too?"

The question shoved Dean down into a silent pit. "I can't," he whispered.

"That's what I thought," replied Sam, vindicated. "He's the other half of you and he has been since he yanked you out of Hell. Dean, I need you to understand that you're not the only one capable of balancing being a hunter with having a spouse. I know she and I can do it if you and Cas can do it."

"Cas and I started a war," Dean said. "You have no idea what it's like knowing you're responsible for your 'other half' being tortured. I never want you to know that, Sammy."

Sam spliced damaged wires together as he talked. "And I wish both of you never went through that, but you're proof that this 'hunters don't get real lives' rule is bullshit. Cas and Mina understand our jobs, they know how to defend themselves, and they're not walking into this inexperienced like Lisa did. I _want_ you're support, Dean, but I don't _need_ it. Mina and I are getting married. Our minds are made up."

Dean's brow arched. "Cas know?"

"I haven't asked him yet." Fear spiked in Sam's gut. "She's not wearing her ring until I do and you're gonna keep your mouth shut too."

"You bought her a ring already?" Dean didn't see that one coming.

"No." The younger brother hesitated, hazel eyes flicking up. "One of Mom's rings." He worked in silence for a minute, clearly letting Dean think the whole thing over for himself. "You mind?"

"No, it's fine." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You're gonna need contingency plans. Get her some weapons. Teach her to shoot."

Something popped loudly and the lights flickered, stuttering, and the constant low hum of electricity resumed throughout the bunker. Dean let go of his fist and the white light sucked back into the palm of his hand as if he hadn't wasted any of it.

Upstairs, Amina shrieked for joy and the brothers laughed at her.

*****

They landed in a clump a block away from the intended target. Castiel wobbled with the burst of energy it required to bring all of them to Columbia, Missouri. Wings rustled as they folded behind his back. Instinctively, Dean grabbed his arm.

"You good?"

The angel nodded and righted his posture. "Out of practice."

"So where is this place?" Sam asked from behind sunglasses.

Amina yanked a piece of paper from the pocket of her most favored skinny jeans. "Bertie's Blooms. It's on Sixth Street."

"Weirdest shit I've ever heard. An angel living like a human and owning a friggin flower shop," muttered Dean as they headed to the next block.

"It's not so weird," Castiel said quietly.

Both brothers glanced at him as he strolled alongside Dean with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. In spite of the humid Missouri summer air, he appeared cool and at ease in a simple pale blue cotton t-shirt. Only Dean saw the wings arching a few feet over his head and cascading to the sidewalk, shining iridescent glimmers of purple and blue over the black.

Dean realized he focused so hard on Castiel the more each stranger they passed radiated a litany of unwanted emotions. His body tightened, his face tightened, and he drifted closer to Castiel, not caring that their relationship suddenly looked obvious. Ahead, Sam and Amina strolled along together with their hands linked.

"There it is," announced Amina, jerking her chin toward a storefront down the road.

Absently, Sam glanced back at Dean, who's eyes narrowed slightly with the sensation of nervousness. Was his brother actually feeling anxiety about confronting the angel? Dean glanced at the file folder under his arm containing proof that they were Henry's grandsons.

"Lemme go in first. The three of you are big and intimidating," Amina decided as if there was no discussion on the table.

"Don't be shy. Tell us how you really feel," joked Dean.

"I resent that," Sam added with a smirk.

The men hung back a few yards and let their little pitbull stroll into the flower shop ahead of them. She slid her sunglasses up like a headband, glancing around the brightly colored bunches of flowers. Castiel followed next and Dean could feel him silently scanning the building for the angel in hiding. He glanced over his shoulder at the Winchesters and gave a subtle nod as if to say she was there somewhere.

"Hi," Amina greeted the girl behind the counter in her friendliest voice. "I heard the lady that owns this place is the best at bridal flowers."

"You heard right," the girl behind the counter replied.

When the girl disappeared to the back room, Amina noticed the three of them staring her down. She laughed. "What's the matter? I know how to get things done."

"I take it back, Sammy," said Dean with his hands up. "I ain't worried about this one at all."

Castiel tilted his head and squinted. "Why would you worry?"

But nobody had time to acknowledge his question. A modern version of the woman photographed in Dean's file appeared from the back room. Her best customer service smile slipped off her face the second her eye fell on Castiel, clearly recognizing his true form. An angel blade dropped through the sleeve of her blouse into her hand and her posture stiffened as if she expected a fight.

Castiel raised his hands and showed his palms. "We mean no harm."

"Are you Magdalena?" probed Amina in a nonthreatening tone.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" But as Magdalena studied Castiel closer, her eyes widened. "Oh, you're a seraph." Her knees quickly dipped in an automatic curtsy. "Am I to be executed?"

"I am a seraph, yes," Castiel admitted, "but there's no need for old formalities. And no, I'm not here to carry out execution."

"Why would you be executed?" questioned Amina.

Dean eyed him with knitted brows. "Dude, angels bow to you?"

"Seraphim." He shrugged as if he didn't want to admit it.

A tense standoff ensued. The four of them had more questions than ever, now that they stood face to face with the angel, but she looked like a frightened animal backed into a corner. She twisted the angel blade in her fist, ready.

Sam showed her his hands and stepped forward. "Look, we're not gonna hurt you. We just wanna talk, okay?"

"About what?" asked Magdalena skeptically.

"You knew our grandfather," Sam replied with a gesture at Dean.

"And Madriel now knows you're alive. We came to warn you," added Castiel, lacking emotion, yet attempting to win her over.

Brave Amina crossed the shop floor and grasped Magdalena's hand, the one with a death grip on her angel blade. "I was an authority," she confided in a private tone, "which means you and I were in the same hierarchy. That's Castiel. We were fledglings together. He's the soul of compassion and honesty, I assure you. And they are Sam and Dean Winchester, who we trust above all other humans." The women sized each other up. "There now. We're all introduced. Can we talk?"

"Winchester." Magdalena vaguely reeled on her feet and pressed her fingertips to her forehead as if a sudden headache overtook her. Her breath shook. She whispered, "Henry..."

"Yes," Amina confirmed gently. "They're his grandsons."

"Not here. People in this town know me as Bertie." Her eyes filled with terrible anxiety. "Across the street there. The cafe. They know me there and they won't intrude, but you must call me Bertie in this town. They can't know." Her voice rose toward the men in a pleading tone that matched the fear in her eyes. "Please, call me Bertie."

"Sure, no problem," Sam agreed.

"Of course," added Castiel.

Reluctantly, the angel Magdalena accompanied the three men and the woman across the street to the cafe. Uncrowded and flooded with sunlight, the cafe had a few tables that they put together in the back. Sam ordered a turkey sandwich, Amina ordered a croissant and fruit, while Dean ordered a ham sandwich with everything on it. It wasn't a cheeseburger but it was better than rabbit food. He was surprised that Magdalena ordered food as well, being an angel, but she'd been pretending to be a human for at least half a century. Castiel merely sipped on coffee beside Dean.

"How did you find me?" Magdalena asked, breaking the silence.

"I performed a variety of summoning rituals until I found you this morning," replied Castiel.

"I mean, how did you even become aware of me?"

"We've been living in Lebanon for about six weeks," explained Sam, obviously careful not to specifically say the bunker.

"Oh." She nodded and bit into her egg salad sandwich. "And now Madriel knows I'm still alive?"

"He brought Dean back when he got hurt in the last battle and he saw your photograph in the table. We didn't know who you were besides a name written on the back but he recognized you. Shocked the hell out of all of us." Sam's eyes flickered around the table.

"What battle?" Magdalena's soft blue eyes, like a watercolor painting, shifted to Castiel's face. "Are we at war again?"

The four of them all communicated silent bewilderment to each other and settled on the wayward angel again. Castiel spoke for them, saying, "Magda--Bertie, are you not listening to home?"

"Not in fifty-five years." Her eyes darkened and turned downcast.

Castiel sipped his coffee as Dean wordlessly observed the exchange unfold. Angel to angel, Castiel briefly explained the war to her and how the Virgin Mary challenged God for her own throne, fighting to be a goddess in her own right. He steered clear of explaining the amorous bond he shared with Dean, but did explain how Amina was cast out, and how they were helping the Virgin Mary win the war.

When he finished, Magdalena stared again at her half-eaten sandwich and absorbed the information.

"You're on the execution list then?" Dean finally spoke up.

She nodded, meeting his eyes.

"What did you do?" He didn't mean for it to sound harsh.

Magdalena's tongue flipped anxiously over her lips. "Are you truly Henry Winchester's grandsons?"

"Yeah," Dean replied as he took the photograph from the file and passed it across the table to her. "Amina found this in the basement in a trunk with your clothes and stuff. If I'm not mistaken, that's you and that's my granddad."

Her hands trembled as she took the photograph and stared, tears suddenly filling her eyes. The pinkish tinge in her tears looked bloody and Dean knew that sight entirely too well. She knew her tears weren't human as well, her folded hands concealing her eyes. Amina yanked her napkin from around her silverware and tenderly coaxed Magdalena into letting her soak up the tears before anyone witnessed how inhuman she looked.

Taking a shaky, deep breath, Magdalena grasps the photograph again. "There were rumors that sometimes an angel and a human could love so intensely that it breaks all barriers between them."

Both Castiel and Dean straightened in their chairs and stiffened.

"I never believed it," she continued tearfully. "It's forbidden. It's against God's law. When I was sent here to inspire faith by displaying communication with Mother Mary, it was the furthest thing from my mind. My orders were to be a healer, so I took a position in an institution, and I was to relay Mother Mary's messages to mankind. Her messages, of course, were actually God speaking through her because like all angels, she never had her own identity. Until now, anyway. It was all orchestrated by God to maintain the faith of humanity."

Under the table, Castiel's fingertips found Dean's hand resting on his thigh. They both knew what was coming. She might as well have been recounting their own story.

Magdalena carefully wiped her eyes again. "One day these men came from Kansas. They said they were scholars and they were studying interaction between humanity and Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. They knew so much already that I received authorization to work with them. This was 1956."

"One of them was Henry Winchester," said Amina softly.

"Yes. His soul was so luminous, so full of warmth." The watercolor blue eyes lifted to Dean. "Like yours. You are so like him."

That made Dean uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and avoided looking at her directly. The only things he'd ever been told about Henry Winchester amounted to abandonment and a disappearing act, not a great scholar with a luminous soul. He certainly never counted himself as a scholar either. They couldn't be further apart. Yet the intrusion of her emotions edging closer to him from across the table were absolutely clear that she told the truth. And Castiel squeezed his hand under the table, silently reinforcing her point.

"Henry understood what I am before I revealed it. I never had to ask for his discretion." Her mind wandered. "Sometimes we wouldn't see each other for months because he had a lovely, kind wife, and a son. He occasionally came to ask more questions. I don't think he knew it at first but he taught me to feel emotions. Angels don't have them."

"Many of us do now," Castiel murmured without blinking.

"I don't know why but that's an enormous relief," she whispered.

"So you and Granddad had a thing. An affair," Sam guessed.

"Yes," she admitted. "You'll never believe it but he saw my wings, my halo, everything. He saw  _me_." The last words brought fresh tears. "He said my wings were colored like pearls and I felt whole for the first time. My existence wasn't just about orders anymore."

It was Dean's turn to discreetly squeeze Castiel's hand. His eyes shifted to the angel at his side, who's stare dropped to his coffee cup. They met eyes so briefly but said a thousand things to one another in that second. Dean tried - he wanted to hate Henry Winchester - but all he felt was empathy, knowing what he endured for Magdalena. A lifetime of misunderstandings and lies unraveled. He could no longer blame Henry for the damage his own father did to him. And he didn't know what to do with that. So he kept holding Castiel's hand under the table.

"And this is why you're on the list?" Amina could have been a counselor with her sweet demeanor.

"Partially." A haunted, pale pallor came over Magdalena.

"You can tell us," Sam pressed.

Castiel nodded, saying, "There is nothing I haven't endured as well."

The blonde angel's head tilted at him and she didn't seem to grasp it yet, but she continued. "I committed the worst form of blasphemy."

Streaks of shock and fear brought Amina and Castiel's gazes across the table as if they knew what she meant.

"What'd you do?" Dean asked, not understanding.

"Conceiving a child between a human and an angel is the worst sin we could commit, aside from denouncing God," she replied shamefully. Another round of tears spilled down her cheeks. "We didn't mean for it to happen but it did. My superiors - Madriel included - knew it immediately and they ... and they ..." Magdalena's tears dissolved into gulps and sobs of the worst kind of despair. "They ripped the baby out of my womb and killed it, calling it an abomination, calling  _us_ an abomination. I was taken to prison in Heaven."

"They tried to reprogram you," said Castiel in a low, dark voice, "but it didn't work because you'd already broken from their control."

Nodding, Magdalena filled another napkin with pinkish tears. "How did you know?"

Castiel licked his lips, so stiff at the table. "Because they did it to me too." He glanced at Dean and brought the hunter's hand to his mouth, simultaneously seeking comfort with a kiss and letting the cat out of the bag too.

"Oh dear..." she breathed, passing eyes over both of them. "Dean, is it?"

He nodded.

"Forgive me, but how are you still alive?" It clearly bewildered her.

Dean laughed, which tilted her head in further bewilderment. "I don't have a clue. I've been asking myself that for years."

The revelation of Dean and Castiel committing the same blasphemy that she and Henry Winchester did, yet they were still alive and together, silenced her. She shrank in her chair, yet didn't move at all. Dean saw it happen, just as he saw her inner workings parade through a series of emotions she didn't understand. Jealousy and envy chief among them. They had what was ripped away from her. Not even Dean understood why they survived so long.

Sam leaned forward, truthfully concerned, but needing the rest of the story as well. "How did you end up living like this? As ..." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "As a human?"

"I escaped Heaven," she began soberly. "Henry wanted to hide with me until the angels lost interest, but they never would stop. I knew that. Once one of us has been ordered to die, the order stands until it is done. Henry had a human wife and son. I insisted that he go back to them, and maybe then he would survive. So he did."

The brothers glanced at each other, confused.

"No," Dean argued, "he left them. Our father never got over it."

Magdalena's despairing eyes shot over to him with a flair of anger. "It wasn't his choice." Each word coiled up in the deepest quiet rage that Dean understood all too well. She took a breath and continued. "Henry returned to Kansas and he completed his studies with the Men of Letters. The night of his initiation, he arrived at the bunker but he didn't know one of his fellow initiates - her name was Josie - was possessed by the demon Abbadon." Another deep breath, but trembling that time, and she pressed ahead with the painful story. "Abbadon slaughtered everyone there that night. I felt Henry's fear. I felt him fighting. But by the time I got there, Henry was already..." She broke off and pursed her lips as if locking the words away.

Sam leaned back in his chair and scrubbed the tension from his face. He looked at Dean again, but no one said a word for a long time. A lifetime of being told Henry Winchester abandoned his family had fueled much of John Winchester's anger, which, in turn, passed on to Dean. But Henry died a hunter's death no matter how he tried to lift himself into more of a scholarly life rather than a violent one.

"So you've been hiding since 1958 to avoid execution," Dean said.

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, they know you're alive now. You might've bought yourself some time reappearing during a war though. I doubt they'll spare anyone to come looking for you," he said.

"He's right," Castiel said, "but you need to give us your grace."

Magdalena gaped at him. Truthfully, the others did too.

"It's for your own protection, Bertie. We can hide it until the war's over. If Mother Mary wins, it won't matter what we've done in the past. She's fighting for our freedom from God's oppression. She believes in free will, as do those who fight with her, like us. You'll be safe if she wins, as will we, but until then, Madriel and his garrison will be tracking you by your grace. You know it, Bertie. Come with us and let us hide your grace until it's safe for you to be  _Magdalena_ again."

"You want me to go back to the bunker? Where it happened?" She bit her lip.

"Just for a few days," said Amina. "I'll help you acclimate and then you can come back here. We'll come for you once it's safe."

Magdalena's eyes passed over each of them. For an angel, she looked so weary. Exhausted. Tired of living on the run. Part of Dean truly understood that but he also had reasons to keep fighting, and they were all seated around him.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" she said quietly.

"Not really," Dean said. "Let's get this show on the road then."


	27. A Profound Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days into Magdalena's stay in the bunker, she decides she needs to go back to her life in Missouri as Roberta Watley and wait out the war there. It's simply too painful for her to be in Kansas among all the memories. But before she goes, she teaches Dean things about his family and how to cope with the reality of being an empath. He's supposed to hate her, really, but he just can't make himself do it. As the Winchesters and Amina help her prepare to go home, Dean keeps noticing how detached and distracted Castiel appears. Finally, when they get time alone together, Castiel admits his plans. Nothing prepares Dean for what he's told.

"Here, try this," Amina said, thrusting a glass of pink liquid into Dean's hand as he maneuvered past her in the kitchen.

He swallowed a mouthful. Sweet and tart mingled pleasantly on his tongue. Glancing through the glass, he asked, "Good stuff. What is it?"

"Raspberry lemonade." She showed him a glimpse of her box of index cards. "I'm collecting recipes. I've made copies for Magdalena too. She already knew how to cook but she doesn't have the recipes I do."

"How's she doing?" asked Dean, swallowing more from the glass.

"She's been sleeping a lot. I did that too."

Dean nodded. "I remember."

"Yeah. Her body should regulate in a few days. She seems eager to get back to Missouri. I think I've taught her just about everything she needs to know but I wanna get her a cell phone so we can call her."

"Secure phone. You're thinking like a Winchester," said Dean with a grin.

"I'll be a Winchester soon enough." She smiled at the thought.

Dean smiled too, but she couldn't have seen it with his back turned. There were so many things he wanted to say, like how happy she made his brother and it was a good thing, but did she really understand his life, and was she really okay with being married to a man who spent considerable time on the road. Yes, so many things needed to be said, but at the end of the day, they were both adults. He wasn't Sam's father and had to resist that urge to parent an adult. No matter how he worried about them, he couldn't forbid the union. He'd be the biggest hypocrite in the world if he did that.

He needed to divert his thoughts. "What are you making now?"

"Fudge brownies." She cracked an egg into a bowl as if she'd been doing it since diapers.

"You're gonna make us all fat."

Amina giggled. "Are you complaining?"

"Nope. Not one bit."

"Hey, Dean, is Castiel okay?" Her tone shifted. It became heavier.

"Sure, I guess so. Why?"

"I don't know. He seems quiet the last few days." As Amina talked, she worked a wooden spoon through the batter.

"He  _is_ quiet. That's his baseline."

"Oh, I know, but it just seems off to me."

"Hmm. I'll find out."

Dean left Amina to her baking and found Castiel reading in the library, his wings spilling over the back of the chair. The flow of the room felt peculiar, though Dean couldn't discern it right away. He stepped closer, immersing himself in the flow - he just didn't have a better word for it. Energy seemed way too New Agey.

He noticed Bastet curled up in Castiel's lap as he absently stroked her fur, slowed by the concentration of reading his book. The cat-goddess craved red meat, though he had no idea she ever ate anything. No, it didn't seem like a craving for life-sustaining food. It was a craving for pleasure. And she truly enjoyed the sensation of human hands stroking her velvety fur. Dean felt bad for intruding on her flow but he hadn't yet figured out how to cure the empath  _disease_.

But Castiel - nothing. Dean's eyes narrowed with confusion as he tried focusing more intently on his angel. It made sense then. The room's flow felt peculiar because an impenetrable wall surrounded his lover. He couldn't break through it. No hunger, no sadness, no happiness, no exhaustion - not even blase indifference. Nothing.

Suddenly, Castiel peered over his shoulder. "Hello, Dean."

And in that moment, Dean realized Castiel blocked him on purpose.

"C'mon, Bastet. I've got a leftover burger you can have," said Dean, patting his hip, and not greeting Castiel at all.

The cat-goddess sprang in a black arch from Castiel's lap and trotted behind Dean to the kitchen. He grabbed the leftover burger from the refrigerator and took the meat out of it. As he ripped it into pieces on a plate, Amina noticed Bastet circling figure eights around Dean's ankles and she flattened against the counter. Wide, fearful eyes dropped to the cat-goddess and rose to Dean's work on the burger as he put it in the microwave.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a high-pitched voice.

"She wants red meat," he said.

"How do you know?"

Dean gave her a sideways look, silently telling her not to ask obvious questions. He just didn't want to say it out loud. The microwave beeped and Dean put the plate on the floor. Bastet dove in eagerly.

"Why are you afraid of cats?" he asked Amina.

"I really don't know. Maybe it's something, you know," she gestured to her body, "leftover from Theresa Novak."

"Maybe," Dean said, his tone rather downtrodden and distracted.

He watched Bastet happily eat the burger for a few minutes, crouched on the floor and lost in his thoughts. The imbalance in the bunker got under his skin. He honestly felt depression, yet he wasn't the type to give in to that kind of weakness.

"You're right, Amina," he said eventually. "Something's going on with Cas but I dunno what it is."

*****

"I think I'm ready to go home," Magdalena said, strolling outside beside Dean late in the afternoon. "You've all been very kind to me and I'm grateful for your protection, but it's painful being here. Much more painful than I expected."

"Because of Granddad," he surmised.

"Yes." She hesitated before she continued. "I buried him myself over there in the woods after Abbadon..."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. "Granddad's buried here?"

Silently, Magdalena slipped her arm through his and slowly led him to the edge of the woods behind the bunker. Her new human features slid into quiet despair the deeper they traversed into the woods. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to see his grandfather's grave, but it felt as if Magdalena needed some measure of closure. More than fifty years passed since Henry Winchester was killed by the demon Abbadon. That was an insurmountable loss, he knew, and an insurmountable amount of time to live with that loss. So he walked along beside her.

She found the place with barely an upwards glance as if no time at all passed. Dean would never have found it if he didn't know what he was looking for, but he somehow felt better knowing it was hidden. She sank to the ground and cleared away brush and twigs, revealing a stone that stood low to the earth.

"I manifested this stone to mark the place when I was able to do such things," she said, sorrow drowning her tone. Her fingertips traced the words HENRY WINCHESTER engraved in the granite. "It's peculiar, Dean. A rather human attachment. My logical mind tells me that Henry's in Heaven - what's left of it, I suppose - and there's nothing in the ground here. Atoms, molecules, old dusty bones... but nothing of Henry's intellect, compassion, or strength. Yet now that I'm here, I look at this place with such reverence."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He trudged further up the hill a few yards trying to escape the cloud of her emotions if only to detangle his own. He took a breath, standing with his back turned and his hands planted on his hips.

"I'm supposed to hate you," he admitted.

"Why?" she asked without even a hint of malice.

"You're not my grandmother. You're this woman - I mean, you were an angel - who could've easily taken him away from his wife and son. My dad was fucked up most of his life because his dad--" Dean stopped short and shook his head. "We were always told he abandoned the family. He was a quitter. You don't skip out on your family. The way Sammy and I were brought up had everything to do with that. Now we find out his mistress - you - sent him back to his family, and then he was killed, by a demon, no less. He cheated on my grandmother with you. Everything tells me I'm supposed to hate you out of family loyalty."

Magdalena waited patiently, listening to him as she sat on her feet with her hands folded demurely on her lap. "I sense a 'but' with what you're saying."

Dean nodded. "But I don't hate you. I can't."

"Why is that? You're justified as his grandson."

"I dunno. I know you mean it when you talk about how much he meant to you. It's not bullshit. That's just something I can do, I guess, knowing when people lie or get sick or feel like shit or whatever." Dean ambled around the woods with a stick he found, poking the ground like a child avoiding the truth.

"Oh, I see," she replied knowingly. "You're an empath."

"I guess." That was as close as he'd ever get to admitting it aloud. "I don't know how to turn it off but it needs to go away."

"Honey, it's never going to go away," said Magdalena in a sharpened maternal tone. She leaned up and gracefully rose to her feet. "Come closer, Dean."

"What for?"

Magdalena's weight shifted to one leg and she put a hand on her hip with a motherly 'do as I say' expression. So Dean obeyed and approached her.

"What am I feeling now?"

"What?"

"Just answer the question," she pressed.

"Um..." Dean gave it a minute until the right words surfaced. "Concern. Worry. Love. Thirsty for raspberry lemonade."

"Very good. Now," Magdalena instructed as she came within arm's reach and placed her hand on the middle of his chest, "close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Imagine building a wall around yourself. Build it out of anything you please - white light, bricks, stone, wood - anything. Tell yourself that outside influences can't get through your wall."

He expected it to be a load of New Age bullshit but he complied. Truthfully, he was desperate enough to try anything. So he sank deeper into his own mind as she allowed moments of silence to pass.

"Build your wall?"

"Yep," he said.

"Okay, open your eyes. Try telling me what I feel again."

He did as she asked and studied her. For the first time in weeks, though, he didn't feel anything except his own stupid angst. And the more he tried to identify her state of being, the more he felt his internal fingers poking at that wall around himself. He stopped before it crumbled.

"How'd you do that?" he asked, relieved and grateful.

"I didn't," she replied with a tiny, sideways smile. "You did. I just showed you the way. It won't last forever. Just do that exercise when you're overwhelmed, but you need to accept what you are too."

And as Magdalena turned back toward the bunker, descending the wooded hill, Dean followed in disbelief. The sun crept closer to the horizon and Castiel had said he wanted to bring Magdalena home before dark. Being out at night wasn't as safe as it used to be before the war for them, it seemed. Dean felt so much lighter by the time he got back to the bunker and thanked Magdalena repeatedly for teaching him that trick. Things seemed easier to bear now.

By the time Amina packed a bag for Magdalena, Sam returned from work in time for goodbyes. But a certain awkwardness fell between Dean and Castiel even without being able to readily detect his state of mind. The angel seemed to avoid looking directly at Dean.

"This is one of our extra phones. I programmed our numbers into it. You can't let anyone know you have this phone, okay?" Amina instructed as she handed it over to Magdalena. "The minute it's safe, I promise we'll come for you so you can have your grace back. I just pray all of this is over soon."

"So do I." Magdalena pulled Amina into a tight, loving embrace. They held each other for a long moment until Magdalena said, "You take good care of my things."

"Are you sure you don't want your clothes back?" asked Amina.

"No, that part of my life is over. They're yours now."

"Your letters though?"

Magdalena shook her head. "Archive them properly here. Henry would want it that way, given what I am - or was."

"Okay," Amina agreed.

Magdalena patted her cheek and then moved on to Sam, who kindly hugged her, but not with the same affection that Amina showed. He hadn't gotten to know her as well because of his job keeping him away from home. And Dean felt fairly certain that his brother shared that struggle between loyalty to his family and giving her the benefit of the doubt for honestly loving their grandfather.

"Are you coming?" Castiel asked Dean quietly.

"Yeah," Dean replied, deciding he needed to be confronted.

The angel stood between Dean and Magdalena carrying a bag over her shoulder. He gripped their shoulders and, in a swoosh of rustling wings, the three of them left the bunker.

Every time Castiel _I Dream of Jeannie_ 'd them to different places, the landing always disoriented Dean, like the first steps off a roller coaster. They landed on Magdalena's back porch - well, Roberta Watley's back porch - as she was known in Columbia, Missouri. She hugged Castiel, and although he returned the embrace, he seemed distracted and not fully present in the moment.

"Dean..."

He snapped out of distraction. "You gonna be okay for now?"

"You can take the angel out of the lady but not the lady out of the angel." She smiled. "I still know how to defend myself."

"Okay. Call us if you need us then." And as he hugged her, another thank you passed between them for helping with his empath problem.

They parted ways with Magdalena, letting her return to life as Roberta Watley, and a consuming silence fell between Dean and Castiel. The angel strolled down the street and Dean followed, uncertain of how to proceed. Something clearly ate at him, leaving him far deeper in silence than usual. They walked side by side, each with their hands in their pockets, showing a separation that made Dean insecure. And he fucking hated insecurity worse than anything.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" he finally asked.

Castiel didn't acknowledge what he said. He only stared at nothing ahead and walked along the tree-lined neighborhood street.

"Cas, you've been blocking me on purpose all day. I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be pissed off about that," he said. "You said no secrets and no barriers but look at what you're doing now. How am I supposed to have faith in you like this?"

That question jerked Castiel's eyes back into focus. He stared painfully at Dean and slowed his gait.

"Yes, Dean, I have been preventing you from detecting my mental condition," he admitted, walking slower, eyes dropped to the sidewalk. "I needed to think things over before I told you."

"Told me what?" It sounded ominous and Dean quit walking altogether.

"Dean, I..." He rolled his shoulders and collected himself. "I have to go back. To Heaven."

For a second, Dean wondered if he hallucinated it. But as Castiel stared at the sidewalk and fidgeted around aimless steps, it slowly sank in that he really did say that. He really fucking said he had to go back. And Dean didn't know whether to puke, cry, or punch the idiot.

"I know what you're thinki--"

"--What the hell are  _you_ thinking?" Dean's temper unraveled, slowly at first, like thread spinning off the bobbin. "What do you mean you have to go back?"

"Just until the war's over," he replied. "With nearly all of Mother Mary's highest host in hiding, there aren't enough strong commanders. Her army needs organization and leadership to win in these final stages. We both know I'm built for military command, Dean. I can't hide away in the bunker while my brothers and sisters slaughter each other in the name of a war that we instigated."

Bile and panic churned along Dean's esophagus. He paced back and forth, a hand raking over his head. This wasn't happening. It wasn't  _fucking_ happening again.

Castiel's intense blue eyes followed him as he paced. "We're both dead if this war is lost. You understand that, don't you?" He silenced, letting the question settle for a moment. "We've all offended God beyond repair and He is vengeful, Dean. You don't know how vengeful. There won't be any talking our way out of it, nor will we have time to tear up the script and make our own destiny. All who stood with Mother Mary against Him will be dead in a heartbeat if she fails at gaining her throne. You and I will be tortured. God will make an example of us before He kills us and casts us both into Hell the way He did Lucifer. We'll become demons. Everything we fought for will be lost in a split-second and we'll never see each other again." He paused again. "The same fate awaits Sam, Amina, Magdalena, and even the soul of Henry Winchester too."

"But you've done your time. You got tortured and almost killed because of me, and the Virgin Mary ordered you rescued. I had to  _die_ to get you out, Cas! They're not gonna let you out alive! You're public enemy number one to them!" Steadily, Dean's temper unraveled and his speech turned into shouting.

The angel sighed. "Try to understand," he said, maintaining a calm tone. "I'm fighting for us, to protect our family."

It sounded noble and ridiculous all at once. Dean scoffed. "The hell you are. You're an angel. Like it or not, at the end of the day, when home says jump, you say how high."

"Dean..." He shook his head dismally toward the ground.

"You think you're not gonna freak out and freeze up the second one of those dicks comes at you with a weapon? You can't even handle looking at a butter knife!" Thinking of the parade of trauma-induced freak outs he carried Castiel through made him want to list them all in detail. "And don't you remember you threatening to kill yourself if you ever had to go back? I said I'd never let that happen!"

"I wasn't well then. I'm getting stronger by the minute." Castiel tried to justify going back despite the steely fear lingering around the edges of his eyes. "It's true that I may die in this war. That's a possibility every soldier has to accept. But I'm not willing to accept sitting in our library drinking coffee while the fate of my kind is being decided. If I die, I die in a worthy cause. I serve my mother now. I have to see it through, no matter how it ends for me."

"Fuck you!" Dean waved a violently dismissive hand. "You don't give a fuck about us, do you? It's always gonna be some worthy cause, something bigger than us, somebody needs you more than I do."

"Dean..." The angel's voice turned tender and wounded, his eyes watery with the harsh reality of Dean trying to hurt him so he wouldn't be alone in his own painful fear. "Dean, you know that's not true. You know I'm trying to help create a world where we can live safely together. I'm just as weary of fighting as you are."

Of course Dean knew what was true and what wasn't. He spun, back turned to Castiel, and clawed both hands through his hair. Desperation to stop what was impossible to stop unraveled him. How do you stop a flood when the levee breaks?

Hands slid over his shoulders. "Please try to understand, Dean," whispered the angel. "I have to fix my home if we're going to have a home together."

The last of the levee gave way. Dean covered his eyes behind one of his strong hands.

"I don't want to leave you. I don't want to die," Castiel reassured, "but we both know you couldn't leave this unfinished either if you were in my position. Neither you nor Sam could allow your mother to fight a war without doing everything you could to help her win it."

Head bowed, Dean made no effort to shake loose from Castiel's grip. "Go then," he said darkly. "You don't need my permission."

"No, I don't need it," agreed Castiel, "but I want your blessing."

"My blessing." Scoffing again, Dean found the whole thing surreal.

But as Castiel grabbed his arm and forced him to look him in the eye, Dean saw real fear and a need to be supported. Castiel lightly grasped his face as if he wasn't sure the gesture was allowed anymore, and he tentatively kissed Dean's lips. Although Dean wanted to push him away and fight the whole fucking thing, he simply couldn't. He just knew Castiel made up his mind and nothing Dean said could talk him out of it.

"Will you still be there when this is over?" Castiel asked.

Reluctantly, Dean nodded. Of course he would. Neither of them had a choice. One always came back to the other no matter how far apart they were by outside forces.

"Pray to me," whispered the angel. "Tell me about home while I'm gone."

Dean grabbed fistfuls of Castiel's shirt, yanking him close. "Don't you fucking die on me."


	28. The Demon Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has left Dean behind to join the Virgin Mary's war effort in Heaven. And Dean never does well with idleness or not being in control. The temptation to drink after six weeks of relative sobriety proves too much and he dissolves into a dangerously drunken night. And when Sam finds him trying to drunkenly fry eggs at dawn, a verbal argument escalates into a violent fist fight before either of them realize what happened. Only a goddess can break up the fight. Brigid appears with a plan for the boys to help win the war, but will they do it?

"Jesus fucking Christ, take it to the fucking bedroom!" Dean stormed through the bunker toward the curving staircase, barely holding himself together.

Sam let go of Amina's waist with both a downturned bitch-face and flashes of concern. Sure, the younger Winchester had only innocently kissed his fiancee in the main hall when Dean came back, but fucking hell, that was the last thing he needed to see that night.

"What's with you?" Sam called after him.

"Where's Castiel?" shouted Amina afterward.

Nope. Dean didn't bother stopping to answer their myriad of questions because once he started, he'd have to deal with comforting  _them_. Mostly  _her_. And he just couldn't tolerate any more emotional conversations that night, so he trudged upstairs and shut himself in his bedroom. Of course, he expected Sam to come after him within the next five minutes, but he just intended to go to bed.

Roses still lingered in the air as if Castiel's wings just rustled there. So did Dean's aftershave, faintly, and the natural male scent of the angel's vessel. He was everywhere still - in the pillows, clinging to the sheets, and the clothes he'd discarded that Dean hadn't washed yet. He sat on the end of the bed, a vague thought surfacing of how he'd meant to teach Castiel to do laundry. The angel had an interest in the everyday mundane things humans did. But he was gone and there no longer existed a need for the mundane where he went.

Dean reached down and picked up the pale blue t-shirt Castiel favored the most. He'd last worn it four days ago when they found Magdalena. It still smelled like him.

Determined knocking broke his thoughts. "Lemme in," Sam said through the door.

He got up and opened the door just enough for his brother to see him.

"What's going on?" the younger brother insisted. "Lemme in."

"I don't wanna talk tonight, Sammy," he said weakly.

"Where's Cas?"

Dean's face hardened. "He went home."

"Like Heaven home?"

Though he said nothing, Dean let his expression spell it out.

"Oh..." Sam said, clearly uneasy. "Why'd he go?"

"He's a soldier." That was all he could say, really. And it said it all. "I don't wanna talk tonight, Sammy. I'm going to bed and I'm not dealing with anything right now."

"No, I get it. I'll handle Mina. She won't take it well, I guess, but..."

"I know." Dean nodded.

"Shout if you want anything. I'll be up till midnight or so."

Nodding again, Dean said good night to his brother and shut himself in his room once more. Thankfully Sam knew his limits and knew when to back off, it seemed. Dean flopped back on the bed, the t-shirt still gripped in his fist, and he considered praying but he didn't know what to say. What do you do when the person you love is at war and you don't know what's happening from moment to moment?

*****

"I don't understand," sobbed Amina against Sam's chest. "I don't understand why he didn't say goodbye."

"I dunno, baby," Sam whispered into the top of her head.

Getting to bed by midnight was clearly not going to happen, Sam realized as he held Amina and let her get his shirt all wet with tears. She'd been doing so well with identifying and controlling her emotions the last couple of weeks, but Castiel volunteering in the Virgin Mary's army ricocheted her back into tearful instability and panic attacks.

And Dean didn't want his help but he knew he wouldn't sleep knowing his brother was so silently distraught. Taking care of both of them meant Sam couldn't process his own reaction to Castiel's abrupt departure. He didn't know what he felt about it.

"He wasn't ready to go back," she cried. "He wasn't strong enough."

"Well, we have to trust that he knows what he's doing. I kinda get where he's coming from. When you feel like everything's your fault, you'll do whatever it takes to make it right." Sam's thoughts traveled back to the apocalypse, to the moment when he decided to say yes to Lucifer and then sacrifice himself by jumping into the cage to save billions of innocent lives. "I know it's hard for you and Dean to understand because you're so much closer to him. I love him too. He's like another brother to me. But I also understand why he's doing this. He feels responsible. I would have done the same thing."

"But he didn't say goodbye. I couldn't tell him I love him," she replied in the most pitiful, weak sob.

"He knows you love him, baby. A brother always knows."

"If he's killed--"

"--Mina, don't start thinking like that," he interrupted. "The one thing I know for sure is when people close to me start thinking I can't do something, then I start believing it. Worst of all, I don't feel like anyone's in my corner. You understand?"

It sobered Amina up right away. Tears stuck to her cheeks but her eyes dried up on the spot, like so many brave mothers, sisters, and wives left behind in wars before that one. Perhaps Sam sounded a little too harsh but he knew a thing or two about lone crusades and the people who didn't think they could be accomplished. Someone had to take Castiel's part in it. He pulled the sleeve of his plaid shirt over the heel of his hand and soaked up the tears from her face.

"We gotta hold it together for Dean, you know? Every time Cas leaves, he does stupid shit to try to get control over everything again," Sam confided quietly. "Even before they were together, he'd do stupid shit whenever Cas left like this. Dean never knows what to do with himself if he's not looking after everyone or leading some reckless plan."

"Okay," Amina said with a more sturdy nod. She then lowered her voice as if giving herself a little pep talk. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Sam's huge hands framed her cheeks and he kissed her forehead. Maybe everything would be okay, or maybe not. He didn't know. But he did feel something shift in the family with Castiel's departure. The hole it left thrust Sam into the position of head of the family, the caretaker, and the provider. He was the only one able to hold everything together for Dean and Amina, which was a job he took more seriously than anything he'd done.

"You better now?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, though she couldn't be great - just tolerable. "I'm very tired. Terrible, long day."

"Let's go to bed then," pressed Sam, just as tired.

*****

Two in the morning arrived promptly and so did Dean's insomnia. Once his body decided to go into fight or flight mode, he couldn't force himself to sleep more than four hours at a time.

Soon he found himself in the Impala, having not bothered to change out of his sweat pants and t-shirt. And a little while after that, he found himself driving toward Lebanon, toward the liquor store. He didn't recollect making a conscious decision to go, but there he was, just like old times. It was like his internal compass pointed him that way with the slightest bit of stress.

"Having a party?" the clerk asked when Dean put three bottles of Jack Daniels on the counter.

Dean glared, clenched his jaw, and handed over the cash. He considered some bitchy response, but he was simply too exhausted to deal with people. He grabbed the paper bag from the clerk without so much of a thank you and climbed back into the safe isolation of his car.

Maybe he should have felt guilty about drinking again but he didn't. Not one bit of guilt swallowed down his throat with the Jack Daniels as he drove back to the bunker. Tomorrow or the next day, maybe he'd be back in asshole fighting form. But that night? Fuck it. He fully intended to spend the next twenty-four hours blind drunk. So drunk that he couldn't feel anything if he tried. So drunk that he couldn't feel  _other people's feelings_ if he tried. Yeah. He justified it, telling himself that the universe owed him a few. Dean Winchester never got to keep his family.

By the time the Impala's headlights found the bunker again, half of the first bottle pleasantly filled his belly. That familiar old warmth took hold before the buzz clouded his mind. He cradled the bottles in his arm like a baby as he crossed the grass and found himself back home again. Silence greeted him the way it left him. Thank fuck Sam and Amina were in bed.

Dean wandered the bunker, drinking, since he had nothing better to do. He loathed feeling useless worse than anything, but as he swallowed long pulls from his bottle, he knew there was nothing he could do except wait. He obsessed still, going over and over everything in his mind.

Maybe Bastet could kill him again. That would get him into Heaven. He could fight with Castiel and be useful again. And most importantly, he'd be able to make sure his angel didn't get killed. Yet something in him refused to go through with it though. He thought of all the times Sam had to watch him die, and he thought of being a distraction to Castiel upstairs. If he intended to go there to protect his angel, then his angel would, in turn, feel obligated to protect him too. They were each other's weak spots just like he and Sam had always been that way to each other.

Somewhere around dawn, Dean made it halfway through his second bottle and he wondered if he could finish the third before he passed out. He chuckled to himself in the kitchen, swaying, as he poured another glass.

Another problem presented itself with Dean's rumbling stomach. Holy shit, fried eggs suddenly sounded fantastic. He stumbled over to the lower cabinet near the stove, searching for the frying pan. Oh yeah. Soon he'd have fried eggs and Jack Daniels, he thought happily, though he drifted to the side. His foot jumped to catch his sliding weight and the stack of pots crashed across the floor. He laughed like a devious child.

"Dean, what do you think you're doing?"

Shit. Busted by the bitch-face police.

Dean's head popped up over the counter with a toothy grin for his brother. Arms folded over his chest, Sam stood in one of the white t-shirts and jeans he wore to work every day.

"Heya, Sammy. Want some eggs?" He waved the frying pan.

Sam squinted and his mouth thinned out as if he carefully appraised the situation. "Are you drunk?"

"Yep." Another toothy grin. "I don't feel a fucking thing and it's fucking fantastic. Lemme tell you."

"Damn it, Dean..." A flash of anger shifted Sam's stance, but he reeled it in again just as quick. It turned to pity in his eyes. "You're not cooking like this. Don't touch that stove."

"Whatever." Dean spun and put his frying pan on one of the metal coils.

"I'm serious, Dean."

"Uh-huh." Blurred eyes couldn't read the knobs, so he just twisted them until something happened. If he blew them up, cool. At least he'd end up in Heaven.

"Turn the fucking stove off."

Dean shot his brother the nastiest look he could muster. "Make me."

The younger Winchester bolted across the kitchen island. Dean thought he imagined it until something snatched him by the wrists and pulled him away. Something turned out to be Sam but his brain couldn't register the information fast enough.

Impulsively, Dean pulled his weight back, angled it into his arm, and hurled a right hook at Sam's face. It stunned the larger brother, who grabbed his face. Then, in an instant, Sam threw his own right hook. Fuck, fighting felt good. Even the pain exploding around his face grounded him. Before either brother knew it, they wrestled each other - throwing punches and hurling each other from the kitchen to the library. Dean didn't feel much, probably because he was so drunk, but as furniture crashed beneath their bodies, he knew they weren't actually angry at each other. They simply had no one else to fight.

"Dean! Sam!" a female voice cut into their melee.

Like children coming to heel, the fighting instantly stopped. Dean sprawled on the floor, nose bleeding, with almost certain black eyes forming soon. Sam sat on the floor nearby. Both panted heavily with the exertion - the discharge of gunpowder.

Perhaps the brothers expected to see Amina admonishing them for drunkenness and juvenile fighting. They both took a double take when they recognized a woman wearing an iron chest plate over her silky green dress. Curly red hair, light and brassy, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She carried one of the long swords Dean knew to be part of the Virgin Mary's forces.

"Brigid?" His head spun but he thought that's who stood there.

"Who's Brigid?" asked Sam.

"Goddess," mumbled Dean, really wishing he'd made those eggs.

"How the hell'd a goddess get in here?"

Dean shrugged. "Hell if I know."

"Mighty Mary..." groaned Brigid through her Irish brogue, "would you two half wits shut your mouths and listen? God's bringing the war to Earth more and more. It's a last ditch effort to drain Mary's resources. We're making headway, but at a great cost."

"What does that mean?" Quickly, Dean scrambled to his feet.

As Brigid explained, she drifted closer and touched both brothers on the foreheads. Instantly, the damage they inflicted on one another disappeared - all except Dean's drunkenness.

"You need to remember why this is a bad decision, boy. Remember to keep your promises," she decided, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. Her attention shifted equally between them and she went on as if she never acknowledged how drunk Dean was that night. "Boys, we need more manpower. To put it in terms of your own military, we need a few good men. God's ego has made Him lose touch with humanity and He feels it's beneath him to bring man into this war. Meanwhile, we're all being drained and slaughtered so much faster the more He insists on bleeding battle onto Earth."

"Hold on," Sam said, a hand extended. "The Virgin Mary wants  _us_ to fight  _God_?"

"I think she means recruiting," guessed Dean.

"Both," she replied coolly. "Call every hunter you know and instruct them to call every hunter they know. My garrison is to draw out the enemy in five days time."

She flicked a wrist and a map appeared on a table nearby, where she bent over the juncture of southern Missouri and Kansas, and northern Arkansas and Oklahoma. Her finger traced the border of Missouri and Kansas and drifted east into the town of Carthage, which they both knew well.

"Sam, your command is to provide for the defense of Carthage, Missouri, where, as you know, Lucifer summoned Death in the apocalypse." Her green eyes flashed up to him in a brief instant but concentrated on the map again. "Carthage is still quite vulnerable. We know God has something planned in the area, but what exactly, we don't know. You are capable of leading an excellent defense."

Her hand turned west across the Kansas border. "Dean, your command will provide the outer barrier around the three state parks here to prevent God's army from retreating. You will sweep them toward your brother and vice versa. Isis will hold her command here in Arkansas and I will hold mine here in Oklahoma. The plan is we'll all sweep God's army to the center and decide the matter once and for all. This will be the turning point in the war."

Dean rubbed his temple and stared at the double image his drunken eyes tricked him into seeing of the map. "We can't fill two garrisons in five days with hunters. I don't even know if we know that many people."

"You don't," said Brigid. "You know enough to fill one and a half. Mary has instructed that her highest host come out of hiding. They will be under your command, Dean. They're making their way here to Lebanon as we speak to assist in organization." Her eyes turned to Sam. "Hunters generally fear you more, given your history. Your command will be exclusively the hunters, unless Dean sees fit to divide the highest host."

"Divide them," said Dean.

Sam scoffed in disbelief. "Wait, are we really doing this?"

"Humans last longer on the earthly battlefield," Brigid said. "The faith of one human intensifies Mary's power. Bringing two garrisons into the fight will end the war much faster. Do you want this war to stretch into your grandchildren's lifetimes?"

"No," he said emphatically with a glance upstairs. "Amina works under me then. No negotiation."

"Fine." Again, Brigid's eyes shifted to Dean. "And I suppose you require Castiel transferred to your command."

Although everything in Dean wanted his angel there, he couldn't risk it. "No." A heavy sigh backed the word. "Keeping us separated won't get both of us killed together. If we're apart, at least one of us will survive."

A faint smile perked Brigid's mouth. "Already thinking like a general."

"But who has him? I mean, where's he fighting?" Dean pressed.

"Castiel has been assigned to Mary's personal staff. He's above all four armies overseeing everything," she explained casually as if speaking of the weather. "Really, quite safe. I think you'd call it a cushy job. Knowing Castiel, though, he'll jump into the fight that day."

"So he knows about this insane plan," Sam guessed.

"Oh yes. It was his design. He has faith in you boys."

Shit. Now they really had to pull this out of their asses. Neither one of them had military experience but they had led massive hunts before. If they thought of it that way, it might work. Dean had combat experience in that war too, as well as Purgatory, which was not unlike war. Mentally, he checked off a list of things to teach Sam in the next five days.

"Make us proud, boys. Weapons and armor will begin arriving in your basement tomorrow." Brigid left the library and dissipated into a puff of green smoke near the front door.

The second she left, Sam flailed over the table and folded his arms over his head. "What the hell..." he muttered.

"I know," Dean agreed.

"How the hell are we gonna pull this shit off?" Sam mumbled into the crook of his arm, muffled, as if he wanted to suffocate himself.

Sighing, Dean replied, "Kick it in the ass like we always do, Sammy."


	29. The Eleventh Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester has been chosen to lead an army for the Virgin Mary's war. He doubts his ability to lead, even thinking of living up to his father's past military service, but the war has reached a critical point. It's do or die time. If the Virgin Mary is going to win her throne from God's control, Dean knows he has to grow a pair and lead the cause. So he divides hundreds of assembled hunters and fallen angels between himself and Sam, each leading their own garrison. Unfortunately, Dean has to go to war without Castiel, who has been sent to the Virgin Mary's personal staff. A massive battle rages across southern Kansas and Missouri into northern Oklahoma and Arkansas. When Castiel is taken prisoner and Dean is severely wounded, will the war crumble and fail?

Three days after Brigid delivered the plan to draw out God's army into the open, the Winchesters managed to amass two hundred hunters and one hundred angels-in-hiding. Rough estimate, anyway. Some drove. Some flew. The abandoned fields surrounding the Men of Letters bunker resembled a campsite. Dean knew more were on their way within the next twelve hours and he hoped to accumulate a total force of five hundred to be divided between brothers.

Amina crossed the road and approached Dean, armed with her clipboard. "Okay, we're up to two hundred thirty six hunters and one hundred twelve graceless angels. Three more hunter families just arrived from Minnesota. They say about forty more people are making their way from Canada right now." She flipped pages in her stack. "Close to sixty are confirmed to meet us from Mexico in Salina or Kansas City, depending on where I assigned them. The rest of the angels will be here soon. We may hit our goal in about ten hours."

"Great," Dean replied. "Have you heard from Magdalena?"

"Yeah. She's going to meet you in Independence. I've put her with you to assist the way I am with Sam. I told her to get there early to receive those coming up from the south who won't come here first."

"Sounds good." There should have been more orders. More instructions. More guidance. But Dean peered into the woods where Bastet trained the masses in celestial combat. All he could think of was how inadequate he felt. Of course, he'd never let that show and neither would Sam.

"We're on schedule, Dean," assured Amina without getting too personal. She had been a soldier for thousands of years and knew her place. "The angels are telling me that they've been ordered to obey you as if you speak for the Blessed Mother directly."

"Is this gonna work?" he asked in a low tone.

"We have a chance," she replied without hesitation, "especially if we get the jump on them. We won't be alone. The Blessed Mother's forces are already digging in down there."

Dean nodded, but he doubted too. "This is way above my pay grade."

"Maybe, but the one thing I've learned from humanity is that we don't know what we're capable of until we take the risk."

"That's the first time I've heard you say 'we' about humanity," he commented through an absent half-smile.

*****

Rare silence enveloped the bunker during the night before the day. Dean should have slept more during the night but he couldn't if he tried. He obsessed over every little detail, poured over street maps, and calculated the journey down to the minute. And always in the back of his mind, worry took root. He worried that Castiel hadn't been ready to return to his duties.

"Did you even go to bed?" asked Sam in passing on his way to the kitchen. "We've got like two hours before we need to be on the road."

"Can't sleep. I'll crash when this is over." Dean flipped to a more detailed map of southern Kansas and Missouri. He shouted toward the kitchen. "Sammy, I don't want you to take any unnecessary risks, you hear?"

"Ehh, you know me," his brother replied over clanking dishes.

"That's what I'm saying. This whole thing's gonna fall apart if one of us... I mean, just hang toward the back. All these military books say the same thing - commanders stay back from the action so they have a better chance at surviving."

He heard Sam scoff. "You're really gonna hang behind too?"

"We have to, Sammy. This isn't a game. I want this shit to be over and I'm gonna do whatever it takes." Dean's tone surprised even himself in its sincerity. He hadn't thrown his weight behind a cause so intensely since the apocalypse. "C'mere and sit down, little brother."

A few minutes passed before Sam appeared with a pair of steaming coffee cups. He seemed unusually calm about the whole thing. They each sipped their coffee in contemplative silence for a measure of time.

"If something happens to me--"

"--Dean, don't--"

"-- _Sammy_ , if something happens to me, you gotta make sure Cas is okay. He was thinking about falling before he went back. If he does, just make sure he gets his footing here as a man, you know?" Tired, bone tired, Dean rubbed his eyes and swallowed another mouthful of coffee. "I just... I know you and Amina are gonna be okay. Pop out some babies and stuff. But Cas... he has a harder time adapting to change."

"Yeah, don't worry. We're gonna take care of him," assured Sam, though the subject of Dean getting killed turned his voice into monotone control. "But if it's me, then you gotta help Mina. She wants to be a nurse. Don't let her give up if I don't make it."

Nodding, Dean readily agreed. "Burn my body. If I go this time, give me a hunter's burial. I'm not coming back again. I'm done if this doesn't work."

"Same," said Sam.

The Winchester brothers might as well have been discussing a grocery list as calmly as they articulated each other's final wishes. Dean had no desire to die and he was certain Sam felt no desire either, but they had been down that road before. The only thing worth dying for was freedom. They'd sacrificed themselves so much for it that the idea was probably tattooed on their souls if anyone looked close enough.

But something felt different about this war. There was a certain finality to it. Win or lose, the Winchesters were going down swinging.

"Sammy, you know, I wanted to say, uh, thank you. I know you didn't ask to be part of this whole thing and I didn't exactly give you a choice, but thanks for backing me up. Cas too. We knew shit was gonna be ugly when we got together but I don't even think Cas knew it would turn out like this. We just need a break. All of us, really. Anyway, I'm saying thanks for sticking with us."

Sam nodded, his countenance smooth and resolute, though quiet and reflective too. "You're my brother. I'm always gonna back you up."

*****

A simple brotherly hug and a few quiet parting words in private witnessed the goodbyes between Dean and Sam. The younger Winchester left with his half of the volunteers first, headed south by way of Kansas City, far from Dean's half of the volunteers, headed south by way of Salina.

"Watch your ass out there," Dean had said, hugging his brother.

"You too," Sam had said in return.

Going into a fight without his brother by his side felt completely foreign to Dean, as did having such a long time to sit and think about what might happen. He glanced into his rear view mirror at the caravan of hunters and graceless angels all depending on him to lead them the right way. He'd done the impossible in convincing jaded, cold, and often self-serving hunters into joining the cause, but he didn't know if they were going to succeed. Then again, no one going into a fight knew what might happen, but something about being responsible for hundreds of lives left him quite unsettled.

As the caravan neared Independence, Kansas, the mechanics of the plan overtook Dean's thoughts. That was the way it always went for him. No matter what went on in life before or after a mission didn't matter once the time came to act. Intense focus trained into Dean nearly from diapers gave his brain an eerie clarity. Of course, the fear of failure still existed, but he shoved it into a cage somewhere deep in his gut.

They stopped in Independence to refill gas tanks and pick up the rest of their volunteers. Of course, they'd spoken loudly around the bunker about fighting around Independence, but Dean had a few tricks up his sleeve. He never knew who was listening and intended to throw off any irritating eavesdroppers. No, Independence was never the target. As soon as they collected the rest of their volunteers, they swung northeast toward Parsons. He chose that place within his territory because of an interstate providing a near straight shot east toward Joplin and Carthage, where Sam set up shop at that very moment.

Magdalena unceremoniously dropped into the Impala's passenger seat on the way out of town. Her pale blonde hair tightly bound at the nape of her neck and a nondescript white tank top and slim tan pants made her look strangely modern, yet entirely sharpened on the mission. She came ready to fight.

"You got weapons?" Dean asked.

"Yes," she replied. "You give the graces back?"

"Two," he said. "One's with Sam. One's in the car behind us."

She nodded and kept her gaze stony and fixed ahead. "And you don't think you're going to be reprimanded for returning any grace before you were told to do so?"

"I don't give a shit," he said and meant it. "They came to me for help. They need to trust my judgment. I need quick communication and a couple of angels with mojo is the fastest way."

"Okay, then." Magdalena felt pleased with his resolve. It radiated from the passenger seat. "I believe we're going to succeed. You know, if it means anything to you. I see a lot of your grandfather's bold determination in your soul - or I did before I gave up my grace."

Dean's mouth thinned out into a silent smile. It did mean something to him but he couldn't afford the distraction of falling into an emotional pit.

*****

"Stay here. They're coming this way, believing there's a path of retreat and a place to regroup out here."

Dean stood in an open field, having hidden his volunteers in the wooded brush, and appraised the extensive blood splatters covering Brigid from head to toe. Her green eyes glittered like gemstones against the brick red stickiness flung across her face. She twisted the long sword in her fist, a twitch that suggested her eagerness to get back to the fight. The lady warrior had a wild look about her.

"Seems like you've got us stashed in the back yard when the thieves are all breaking in through the front door," he remarked, twisting his own sword in his tense fist.

Brigid's eyes narrowed at him. "Your brother's side has been engaged. You're the only opening left. They're coming, Dean, and they'll be desperate when they reach you. If you don't hold them here at all costs, everything will crumble. You understand?" She stared him down. "I suggest you shut your mouth and conserve your strength."

His jaw clenched and he stared her down right back, silently demanding the respect he knew he deserved. That was the thing about gods and goddesses. They all had egos. Dean Winchester generally hated himself most of the time and had no capability of an ego, but what he did have were balls and the track record to back up his silent demand for respect. They needed  _him_ to finish that damn war. They knew it. He knew it. And that, he guessed, was exactly why Brigid blinked first. She backed down, her shoulders drooping just slightly. What a messed up universe when a man like Dean could make a goddess back down.

Now if he could just do the same with God's army.

Left to manage his volunteers, Dean paced a lengthy swath across the open field ahead of the hidden volunteers in the woods. He felt them watching as he lifted binoculars to his eyes in search of any movement. Their anxiety soaked into his back, along with their eagerness to get going with the fight.

Somewhere to the east, Sam was already fighting with his volunteers. He'd better stay behind the lines as Dean had ordered him. Never mind the fact that Dean himself paced back-and-forth out in the open while his own people hid in the woods.

Electricity crackled in the air. Dean looked down at his forearm and watched the thin hair stand on end. His quick green eyes shifted to the sky just in time to see deeper, sickening green clouds roll and materialize out of nowhere. Large raindrops began spitting from the clouds just as quickly.

The valley below filled with an undulating mass of bodies thrown together in vicious hand-to-hand combat. For a moment, Dean watched, enthralled by the how suddenly the tide approached. Bursts of light exploded sporadically throughout the valley as angels hurled powerful grace at each other. It looked like low-hanging fireworks viewed from high in the atmosphere. That sight was nothing new to Dean but watching it from above had an ethereal, macabre beauty to it.

He knew that he simply couldn't wait for the battle to come to him, and that meant the other hunters in his charge couldn't wait either. Abruptly, Dean decided to bring them to the battle.

Silently, he raised a hand. He didn't need to look back because he knew they understood the command. Faint rustling in the woods behind him indicated how they stood and formed the companies with three captains chosen earlier that morning. A series of hand signals instructed one company to flank from the left, another company to flank from the right, and Dean intended to move ahead with the center assault. They obeyed. They moved. As long as they kept up that kind of precision, Dean thought they had a shot.

A brief thought of his own father took him to a place of clarity and reflection as they went into the fray. John Winchester had been a Marine and saw combat in Vietnam. Would his father _finally_ approve of him leading a military-style operation that day?

The snake pit swallowed Dean and his volunteers whole.

It didn't matter if the fighting took place in Heaven or on Earth - that kind of violence turned Dean into a machine. All thoughts of hanging back and keeping himself protected fled his mind the moment God's angels attacked his hunters and his graceless angels. With the sword of the Virgin Mary in one hand and his makeshift machete from Purgatory in the other, Dean gave in to his instincts as a killer.

The violence of the storm intensified almost as much as the violence of the fight. It seemed to ebb and flow with the ferocity of the combat on the ground. In moments of escalation, thunder and lightning rippled loudly and tore at the land. In moments of a lull in fighting, it tamed into a steady rain. Soon, no one could discern the difference between lightning from the sky and blasts of grace exploding from angelic hands.

Time passed into night, though no one knew it through the storm. Darkness engulfed the valley much deeper than a thunderstorm but the constant glow of light hurled at bodies tricked most of the hunters into believing it was still daylight. Only Dean seemed to feel the change and he realized they had been fighting for hours, bitterly and with every ounce of courage they had, trying to gain an inch of ground.

He estimated about a third of his hunters had fallen, either wounded or killed. Burnt corpses littered the ground, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that more of God's army had fallen than his own. The stench of scorched flesh and the metallic aroma of blood filled their senses until weaker stomachs vomited in disgust. Most of those hunters were veterans at killing monsters but almost none had seen the horrors of war.

Dean knew war all too well though. Rain, filth, blood, chunks of dirt, weapons covered in gore, and the terrifying glare of a killer transformed him into a monster of his own creation. Somehow he stepped outside of himself, knowing he had become such a killer that he perhaps didn't deserve the rewards at the end of the war. Perhaps he was not the Righteous Man able to help the Virgin Mary transform into a goddess after all. Perhaps he never should have counted himself worthy of an honorable creature like Castiel.

He slashed his way across the field with no particular direction other than moving toward anything that resembled the enemy. Magdalena, blonde hair and creamy pale skin splattered with blood and storm debris, stayed close to Dean wherever he went. She fought like a man, he thought absently, his chest just filling with pride. Granddaddy Winchester certainly knew how to choose himself a lady even if she wasn't his wife.

The two of them found an empty hole to quickly regroup and catch their breaths. He bent at the waist, muscles screaming with hours of exertion, and his lungs burning for rest. Magdalena's hand sternly gripped his shoulder, jerking him from that moment of peace.

"Dean," she said in a reverent tone, both secretive as well as intensely respectful, "do you see what I see?"

The hunter followed her gaze several hundred yards away to the crest of the hill overlooking the valley. If he hadn't seen it himself, he would have laughed and called the story cliché, but there stood the small figure of the Virgin Mary observing the battle. Swathed in white linen, the lady's posture resembled that of a queen. Long black hair hung in large, loose curls over her shoulders and caramel skin reminded Dean that the people of Jesus' world had not been white. She looked somewhat Arabic, yet her large curls an aristocratic, prominent nose hinted at a race he couldn't identify. An elegant white linen veil hung from just behind her hairline to her knees. The three handmaidens that he knew all too well stood behind her in perfect formation.

"Is it her?" he said, but he already knew.

"Mother…" Magdalena's eyes filled with tears despite the violence raging behind them.

And then he recognized one of the other figures standing guard around the Virgin Mary. The four male angels flanking their mother angel each wore silver chest plates, carried shields and long swords. Castiel's tall stature dwarfed his mother and his shoulders seemed much broader dressed in the chest plate armor. He couldn't see Dean from that distance, of course, but somehow Dean knew that he was aware of his presence. They were always aware of each other no matter how far away they were from the other. The grace in his body gave them almost a telepathic bond.

Mesmerized by the sight of the _actual_ Virgin Mary standing with Castiel had Dean so enthralled, momentarily forgetting his duty, that it took a piercing hot pain through his shoulder to bring him back to Earth. His head whipped backwards and a growling, bellowing sort of scream erupted from his mouth. Stunned, Magdalena cried out as Dean's knees buckled. He realized one of God's angels had taken the opportunity and drove a sword straight through his shoulder. Meat, tendons, and muscles ripped apart as he watched Magdalena swing her own sword from above, beheading the angel in an instant. An explosion of light temporarily blind them.

Sweating and pissed as hell, Dean grabbed the bloody mess of his shoulder as he sat up on the muddy ground. He instinctively looked to the crest of the hill again but Castiel was gone. Although his entire upper body radiated of angry pain and Magdalena fell to the ground trying to stop the bleeding, his stare darted around in search of his angel.

And then fluttering white linen pulled his attention back to the crest of the hill again. The three handmaidens surrounded the Virgin Mary and huddled as if protecting her. Nothing but serenity ever crossed her face's features, except he noticed her hands balling into fists as she to darted her eyes back-and-forth, searching the battlefield.

Something was wrong. Abruptly, they disappeared. They vaporized into the rain.

"Where'd they go?" Dean ground through gritted teeth. The pain pissed him off more than anything. "Fuck! Where's Cas?"

Magdalena ignored his rambling. "We have to get you to the rear! We have to stop the bleeding!"

Working so fast as if on instinct, she prayed to the angel who had received grace from Dean before the battle. He'd called himself Rodriel and resembled a huge Viking. He appeared instantly at her command. No one had to explain anything to Rodriel, who immediately slung Dean's body over his shoulder like a rag doll. And with a touch to Magdalena's shoulder, the three of them disappeared from the battlefield altogether.

"Damn it! Send me back! I have to take care of those people!" Dean screamed in rage at them.

"Shut up and let me stop the bleeding! If you die out here, you're not going to help anyone! Do you understand me, boy?" Magdalena screamed, giving it right back to him.

Rodriel knelt and observed. "I'm not at full strength yet. I cannot heal. I can only fly."

The loss of blood overcame Dean no matter how he tried to keep it together. He fell back in the grass. The sound of gurgling water over his head indicated they were on the banks of a creek. He swallowed hard but his tongue felt like sandpaper scraping against the roof of his mouth.

_Shit._

This was not how it was supposed to go! All of his volunteers fought out there – he could hear the rumbling battle going on in the distance – and they fought without a leader.

"You don't tell Sammy about this!" he ordered.

"Fine. You just keep still," replied Magdalena as she pressed her bare hands against the shredded flesh.

"I need to know what's going on, Rodriel." He may have been flat on his back, laid out with an ugly wound, but that didn't stop him from trying to stay in charge. He needed that sense of control.

"We're winning, sir, but at great cost of life. Your brother successfully defended Carthage and much of God's army abandoned that fight. He's well," reported the angel. "They're putting up a much stronger fight on our side of the field but our volunteers are cutting them down much faster than they can regroup. Try not to worry. I don't think it will be much longer. The captains are in charge now. This is how it was designed should you fall."

"I haven't fallen. It's just a scratch," Dean said stubbornly.

"Yes, sir," replied Rodriel in a dutiful tone.

"What happened to the Virgin Mary? Where did Cas go?" he pressed again.

Above him, the angel glanced at Magdalena in a silent communication. His face blanched with concern and he hesitated. She returned the same expression as she ripped Dean's shirt and used it to stop the bleeding as best as she could without real supplies.

"Tell me!" he barked. "Now!"

Rodriel peered down at him again. "The angel Castiel was ordered by the Blessed Mother, along with the other three of her staff, to gather reports about the progress from garrison commanders. Somehow they were taken prisoner in the process. We're not sure how yet. Reports are unclear. The Blessed Mother evacuated the field before she too was taken prisoner." Pausing, Rodriel measured Dean's reaction to the news.

A maternal tone deepened Magdalena's voice. "Dean, they're God's prisoners in Heaven now."

The news fell over him like a black veil. His eyes slipped shut. His angel being a prisoner of war, a prisoner of the God he repeatedly disobeyed, certainly meant death for him. And if it meant death for Castiel, it meant death for Dean. A right arm could not function without the left, nor could a heart live without a soul. Dean's mind raced.

"Find him," he said to Rodriel, entirely serious. "Act like you switched sides. Go behind enemy lines, you know? Get into Heaven. Get them back."

Doubt filled the angel's eyes, but he resolutely responded, "Yes, sir," and abruptly disappeared.

"It won't work," Magdalena whispered eventually without looking up from applying pressure to his bloody shoulder.

"I have to try," Dean whispered back.


	30. And The Comet Will Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terribly wounded but determined to maintain control, Dean interrogates an angel about Castiel's whereabouts after the deciding battle in the Virgin Mary's war against God. The angel turns out to be a familiar face to the others. And just as the war seems decided once and for all, with peace in sight, Amina spots a ball of fire in the sky. Panic fills the Winchester family as they race to a smoldering crater in the ground outside of Carl Junction, Missouri, realizing something very dear to them was tossed out of Heaven like garbage. Will the Virgin Mary arrive before its too late?

"We've caught one of the defectors, sir," one of the graceless angels informed Dean as she kept stride with him across the battlefield. "He's refusing to give us his name. We think he was highly ranked in God's army by his demeanor. Once the angel Castiel was captured, he appears to have defected to the other side."

They stepped over dead, empty vessels in unison. Bodies laid in unidentifiable heaps in the night but Magdalena tried to shine a single flashlight for all of them. Dean's shredded shoulder throbbed in the t-shirt Magdalena ripped into bandage wraps. He bled through most of it already, though he kept trudging through the field, shirtless, as the smoke drifted away from the aftermath. Magdalena and a pair of hunters trailed behind with swords pointed outward, alert and ready.

"Is he restrained the way I showed you?" Dean asked.

"Yes, sir," the graceless angel replied. "We bent an angel blade and impaled both ends through his wrists. He cannot fight. If he moves much at all, he'll die."

Dean had to admit, using angel blades as a means of restraint was a stroke of genius. She led him to a thin birch tree where the lanky, well-dressed angel stood, guarded by a mixture of other angels and hunters. Well, he had been well-dressed before his dark suit and brightly colored tie were ripped up in the fight. Blood poured from his right temple, not that such a wound could hurt him. His vessel sure took a beating though, especially with his arms wrapped backwards around the tree trunk and his wrists stabbed through with an angel blade. Rusty red blood spilled down the tree trunk in streaks like paint dripping on a wall.

"Name?" demanded Dean, posture stiff and close to him, intimidating.

The angel's mouth spread wide into a thick smile. "Hello again, Dean."

Slightly tilting his head, his brain raced to try and recognize the angel.

"Oh, look at you, trying to put the pieces together. I'm always so amused by the slow thought processes of you hairless apes." He spit blood on the ground between Dean's feet. "You're a big piece of man, aren't you? Just like your brother. No wonder Castiel and Amina are so enamored of the Winchesters."

"Where is he?" snarled Dean.

"He'll be back soon enough. Don't worry your pretty little head." He smiled again and it somewhat resembled the swagger of a demon, not an angel of the Lord.

"Explain."

The angel chuckled. "Don't you remember me yet?" He paused. "You don't. Let me refresh your little apey brain. I assume Castiel told you all sorts of things about me, like I tried to kill him in the war with Raphael and I'm hunting Magdalena..." His grey eyes refocused behind Dean. "Hello, sister."

Dean glanced back at her expecting a fearful reaction, but she stood tall and jerked her chin in the strongest attitude of independence. "Madriel," she said coldly. "Switched allegiances again, I see. Weren't you just fighting under Mother's banner a few days ago?"

"Father offered me a better deal." Madriel shrugged, amused by them.

"Tragic for you. Mother won the field today," retorted Magdalena.

A burst of low, controlled laughter erupted from Madriel's throat. "That may be, dear sister, but the Righteous Man lost the thing most dear to him in the process and I helped make it happen." His smile brightened to something that could make even Crowley recoil. "Oh, little Castiel may come back, sure, but he won't be the same. Everyone pays the price when they take on the throne, don't they?"

Dean stared him down and the blade spun in his functioning hand. One swift motion of his wrist slashed the blade across Madriel's throat, very nearly beheading him where he stood. Angelic light spilled from his eyes, nose, mouth, and the bloody gash across his throat, as they all turned away from it to protect their eyes. Scorched wings burned into the birch tree and the trees surrounding it, along with stray burnt feathers trailing to the ground.

"I'm done fucking around," said Dean resolutely as he turned on his heels and strode away. "Anyone not with Mary and Cas is against free will, and against us. I'm so fucking done, I need a new word for it."

*****

At least it was over. Sam took stock of the farmland around Carthage and he pitied the scorched bodies scattered across the field. He spotted Amina standing alone further ahead at a bluff overlooking the city. She cut a motionless hourglass shape in the dark, only a faint haze of distant streetlights illuminating her figure.

Sam approached her cautiously, fearing she might still be amped up and stab him through with that angel sword. Dark splotches of mud and blood covered her from head to toe, matted her hair, and ruined her clothes. Her blue eyes turned darker with the fight. She'd been forced to touch something raw and violent within herself in order to defend her family that she'd wanted to leave behind when she was cast out of Heaven. And, Sam guessed by her silent, smooth features, she didn't know how to bury it again.

He grabbed the towel hanging from his back pocket and tenderly wiped her hand clean of battle filth. Then he worked loose her death grip on the sword, dropping it to the ground, and wiped that hand clean as well.

Faint life returned to her eyes as they studied his face. "Hi, Sam."

"Hey, baby," he murmured gently. "Just cleaning you up a little."

"Is it over?" she asked, her voice small and girlish.

"Yeah, baby, it's over. Don't worry. We won, I think, if you could call war winning at all." Sam wrapped the towel around his hand and rubbed off the filth from her cheek, carefully under her eye, lovingly around her mouth. "Are you okay? Not hurt or anything?"

"No, not hurt," she whispered. "What about you?"

"My thigh might need a few stitches. No big deal."

Nodding, Amina bravely said that she could do it, but her mouth trembled and she threw herself against his chest in tears. The reality of it all finally sank in for her, he guessed, or the adrenalin wore off and fear replaced it. She had never been in combat without the lack of emotional reactions protecting her, but now she was flooded with them.

"Shh," he whispered, "it's over now."

It took her a minute, but she managed to pull it together much faster than she had in previous outbursts. Though her hands shook as she wiped away tears, she nodded and took steadying a breath. She clung to Sam, though, and he knew she wasn't quite there yet, but she tried. That was a big step in managing her anxiety.

"I think it's over on Dean's side too," Sam said. "He must be okay or Rodriel would've come for me. We gotta find Dean and go from there, I guess. Maybe Cas is back."

"Doubtful," replied Amina, taking his hand. "He's always been very focused once he makes up his mind about a cause. He'll see it through to the end."

"Just like Dean," Sam pointed out, mostly to himself.

The pair of them made their way across the battlefield, occasionally stopping to help a wounded hunter or graceless angel. Sam briefly gathered his captains and mapped out a plan for the evacuation of the field. Certainly the people of Carthage and Joplin knew something strange was going on in the hills above their cities, yet they would not have known it was more than a severe storm thanks to some fancy angel mojo that Sam only pretend to understand. He divided the wounded among three different hospitals and offered a few different cover stories that he and Dean used in the past.

Halfway across the field to his car hidden in the woods, Amina's pace slowed and she fell behind Sam a few yards. She didn't catch up, making him look back, and he found her stopped in her tracks, wild grass grown up to mid-calf. Head tipped back, she stared at a spot in the sky with her brows furrowed, trying to focus her vision even sharper.

"Baby? What's up?"

Head tilting, she pointed upward. "Is that a meteor? Comet maybe?"

Sam spun around and searched the sky for whatever caught her attention. A golden speck in the inky sky looked nothing more than a bright star at first, hanging just above a thin layer of translucent clouds. The slightest perception of movement caught his attention, though, and he realized the ball of light moved. Unconsciously, he stepped forward, gripped by a wave of inexplicable anxiety.

"Looks like a meteor," he guessed aloud. "It's falling, I think. Toward us."

The word _falling_ made Amina gasp and tense before he even finished the sentence. He glanced at her smooth, pale face pointed toward the sky and recognized awful fear in her eyes.

"Mina, what?" he pressed a bit more urgently.

She gasped for a second time, body shifting as if the fear created a physical reaction. Sam's eyes turned back to the light in the sky, which had grown so much that he recognized flames rolling and twisting off a mass of ... something. It was a fireball falling to Earth. The closer it got, the faster it seemed to move until the flames grew into long streaks of fire sharply following it. Flapping motions in the mass confused Sam. Pieces of fabric burned away as it fell. Why would a meteor be wrapped in fabric burning away in the atmosphere as the gravitational pull fueled the fire?

Recognition hit both Sam and Amina almost in the same second.

Sam began to say, "That's a pers--"

But Amina cut him off with shrill words. "--Oh my God, no! It's Castiel!"

"What?" Spinning again, Sam squinted at the sky.

"They pushed me out! They pushed me!" she screamed the rapid string of panicked words. "They pushed him! I fell! He's falling! He's burning! Oh, God! No, no, no!" By the end of her fragmented explanation, tears spilled down her face - not of sorrow, but of blazing anger and terror.

On instinct, Sam grabbed her close to his chest and cradled her head, not wanting her to witness Castiel burning alive. Her nails dug into his shoulderblades as she mumbled unintelligible appeals for it not to be true, for God to be merciful, and for Mother Mary to rescue him. Sam's eyes tracked the trajectory of his fallen brother, determined to find him wherever he hit the ground. Amina continued broken appeals to Mother Mary for help as Sam's brain swatted away thoughts of how she had fallen the same way. He thought of Dean too, wondering if he saw the same thing at that moment just across the border in Kansas.

Amina broke away from Sam and strengthened her resolve, watching the last of her brother's fall from grace. The moment he collided with the ground somewhere west of Carthage, a massive glowing orange ball exploded toward the sky. People nearby certainly felt the impact and heard the explosion.

"Car! Go, go! Run!" she barked at Sam as she bolted.

*****

"I don't own a car! I'm not good at this!" yelled Magdalena from behind the wheel of the Impala.

"I can't drive like this!" Dean shouted back. "Drive! Do it!"

"How do you know it was him?" she demanded and she threw the car into drive and floored it, speeding toward the road.

Bumping around in the passenger seat caused Dean's shoulder unbearable pain. He grabbed the offending limb and leaned toward the dash, growling. "I just know! I feel burning! Just hurry!"

"Holy shit, Dean!" He'd never heard Magdalena swear before and she nearly swerved off the road. "There are blisters all over your back! Breathe, Dean! Put up your wall or you really will burn!"

"No!" he argued, swallowing hard and shaking his head. "I can't find him if I don't feel it! Just get over the border!"

Wide-eyed and mouth gaping open, Magdalena did her best to keep the Impala on the highway. She seemed to have a working knowledge of cars and driving but clearly lacked practice as she struggled to maintain one lane at that speed. They drove so fast, pushing the Impala's engine to its limits, that they made the hour trip toward Joplin in about forty minutes.

Just as they crossed the border into Missouri, Dean's phone rang with Sam's familiar ringtone.

"What?" barked Dean without a hello.

"Did you see it?" Sam's voice sounded high and rushed with tension.

"Yeah, I'm coming! Where are you? Find him yet?" Dean switched the phone to the other hand and realized his shoulder resumed bleeding again.

A muffled female voice spoke over the engine of Sam's car but Dean couldn't hear what she said. He only heard the tremble in her syllables. Amina was terrified.

Finally, Sam translated. "Carl Junction. Mina says the police scanner has people reporting a meteorite hitting farmland north of Carl Junction. Nobody's gotten to it yet. We're five minutes out."

"Got it. Drive, Sammy. Fast. He's burning."

Apprehension lowered Sam's voice. "I know. I saw it."

Dean didn't want to talk about it. "Just get there now. I'm coming. Fifteen minutes." And he ended the call without saying goodbye. As he dropped his phone on the floor between his feet, he merely told Magdalena, "Follow the signs to Carl Junction."

There was nothing to prepare Dean for the ghastly sights ahead, he knew, but he remembered the charred bodies on the battlefield behind him. He leaned back on the passenger seat and forced himself to think of those images, to immerse in peeling, cooked flesh and faces contorted in agony. If he didn't prepare himself, he couldn't help the angel. His stomach flipped and rolled but he refused to give an inch to fear. Not while Castiel smoldered somewhere out there in the middle of some stranger's crops. H e certainly didn't try to imagine how or why it happened, or he knew his judgment would be blinded with rage.

Dean took a long, shaky breath. The burning blisters dotting his skin connected him to Castiel and pulled him in the right direction. Something his angel once said surfaced in his thoughts, that one day Dean would discover being an empath had its uses, that it wasn't such a curse. He felt tears slide down his face in spite of his best effort to maintain masculine control. The angel had been right. Being an empath meant finding his loved ones and understanding their suffering when they couldn't be found, when they needed him the most. Castiel never saw him as a freak even after he became an empath and after falling in love with him in a male vessel. There was never an ounce of judgment.  And as Dean's mind raced through their years together, he realized Castiel's mind did the same. He was still alive somewhere close by.

"Please, Mary, please," he whispered prayers, not knowing what else to do. "Don't abandon him. Don't let him die. I can't do this. I can't lose him now. I've done everything you needed. So has he. He bent over backwards for you. Please, please, don't let him die." Yes, his prayer sounded like begging. He didn't care. Just the same with Sam, he intended to do whatever it took to save Castiel even if that entailed begging the Virgin Mary for help.

"You see that column of smoke?" Magdalena asked, breaking his thoughts.

Opening his eyes, Dean peered across a field off the driver's side of the windshield. A small column of black smoke rose toward the sky in the aftermath of the explosive fall. The blackness struck him as familiar with its bluish-purple tint and liquid motion smoke. It was a manifestation of Castiel's burning wings. The beautiful enormous wings that no human on Earth aside from Dean could see were likely destroyed in a baptism of fire. He thought he was going to vomit.

"Go there," he ordered hoarsely. "That's him."

Magdalena obeyed in silence and took the next exit, and then she turned north on a country road. Their headlights made the night seem blacker than a nightmare. Dean consoled himself with the thought that Sam had been much closer and found Castiel long before that moment. Maybe Amina already began nursing him. It just had to be that way. He couldn't stomach the idea of Castiel out there burning in a field for the last hour by himself.

The Impala turned onto an unpaved dirt road between crops. A half mile into the corn fields, they found Sam's car partially parked in the brush and completely empty. They pulled up next to the Challenger but left the headlights on.

A giant swath of newly grown corn had disappeared, obliterated, and left an open crater in the ground. If it had been _The X-Files_ , Dean would have assumed a UFO had landed there. But this wasn't a television show. It was entirely too real for him. He jumped out of his car, the adrenaline blocking any pain he felt in his shoulder or radiating from the blisters all over his torso.

The wildly filthy and horrified figure of Amina jumped out of the crater before he could reach it. She cut him off, grabbing him by the arms, and she pushed him back with unusual strength.

"Dean, no. You don't want to see him like this," she ordered.

"The hell I don't! Move!" He grabbed her waist and tried to push her aside.

She anticipated his moves and latched onto his wrist with a jerking motion and twisted it until he felt the bones bend. "I'm serious! This is something you can't see! It's bad, Dean. Really bad. You need to remember him as he was." She bit her lip and fought tears.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Bile clawed its way up his throat.  Reality suspended momentarily until he heard himself screaming, "Cas! Sammy!" as he went hoarse.

A burst of adrenalin lifted Dean out of his own body. He watched himself from somewhere else as he violently shoved Amina out of his way. Her body hit the ground like a rag doll and he jumped into the crater before she could recover her senses. A vague awareness of Magdalena rushing to her aid made Dean feel not so bad about what he'd done, but he needed to get to Castiel. Nobody, not even Sam, was going to stop him.

The smell hit him first. It reminded him of burnt hamburger but then a sickening sweet after-odor chased it. Burning human flesh. Though no flames ignited anymore, he felt hot like a smoldering piece of charcoal left in the bottom of a barbecue pit. The dark, motionless heap in the center of the crater allowed Dean's brain to spin lies. It wasn't really him. It was an oblong boulder. It was a meteorite. It was a comet. It was a piece of a star. It was a rock flung from Mars. Anything but his angel burned and completely mortal.

So mortal, in fact, that Sam knelt on the ground beside him, bent to his ear and holding his hand. Castiel laid on his stomach with his knee drawn up under his belly and his other leg flung out behind him. It looked like he landed and never moved an inch. Patches of untouched flesh appeared sparse among the varying degrees of charred black to flaming red and melted, peeling meat.

"Cas?" The unrecognizable voice in Dean's throat sounded like unadulterated fear, a concept unfamiliar to him, like a child knowing he was about to lose the one protection and comfort he had in the world.

Sam looked up to Dean from the ground and still held onto the angel's hand. The slight rise in Castiel's back drew Sam's attention back and he listened with his ear close to his mouth.

"What'd he say?" Dean pleaded, still unable to make his legs move.

A moment felt like a year until Sam met his eyes. "He said he escaped. The others with him are dead." The younger brother paused again in astonishment. "He said God surrendered."

"It's over?" Dean couldn't believe it. He couldn't let himself celebrate, not like this.

The hunter dropped to the ground near Castiel's head and tears spilled down his face. He felt life bleeding away. He felt it in his gut, in his bones, in his soul. No longer did he feel Castiel's grace humming through his body like a beacon calling him home. The wings had burned away and their ashes cast throughout the atmosphere. He no longer recognized any of Castiel's features, save brief glances of bright blue eyes steadily dying in the night. An angel could have survived being burned to such a degree, but not a human man with all of that human frailty.

"Dean," he murmured weakly, "be happy. Be kind to yourself."

"Shut up. You're not going anywhere," retorted Dean. Of course he was lying to himself. He knew it. "We gotta get you to the hospital. Just hold on."

"I wondered," said Castiel in slow, drawn out breaths, "I wondered if I would still love you once I became mortal, if the emotion would remain in tact. Now I know." He swallowed and forced labored breathing. "Knowing you has been the most beautiful gift in my existence. I feel it in my soul now. I have one. You're in it. Choosing you was the best thing I ever did, Dean. You gave me life."

"Now I've killed you," Dean choked on his words, desperate to prove his remorse.

"Give yourself a life for me," added Castiel.

The rise and fall in his back slowed to a dangerous rate. Dean panicked but he knew there was nothing he could do. Hands shaking, body numb with shock and grief, all he could do was watch as life drained. At that moment, the only thing he wanted to do was trade his life for Castiel. Given the option, he would have done it in a heartbeat. The truth in Dean's gut told him Castiel had the potential to do so much good in the world, whereas Dean was a broken mess of a man who killed more than he loved.

"Cas?"

Stillness.

"Cas!"

In the distance, Amina wailed like a dying animal. Sam gently grabbed Dean's upper arm as he tried to shake consciousness back into Castiel's burned body.

"He's gone, Dean," he said with a hitch in his throat.

A bellowing, anguished, despairing cry of desperation peeled the Missouri night air as the reality of it sank into Dean's body. Pain tore through him as if his body physically rejected the idea of life without his angel. He bent over Castiel's body and couldn't escape the clouded odor of burned flesh. Dying along with him suddenly felt like the only viable option, not going home to the bunker and facing their belongings thrown all over their bedroom. He couldn't do it. God damn it, he couldn't do it.

A cold breeze cut across his bare back. The most tender, loving touch of a hand draped over his shoulder. For a moment, it felt like Castiel, and he entertained the thought of a ghost. But the hand felt smaller and all wails and cries around him went eerily silent.

"Oh, my beautiful children," the lyrical feminine voice murmured above him. "I'm here. Mother is here."


	31. Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war against God to win the Virgin Mary's throne has been decided but Castiel lies dead at Dean's feet. Together Dean, Sam, Amina, and Magdalena race to restore Castiel with a human soul with the Virgin Mary's help. In the process, Dean has to test the limits of himself as an empathic being and learn when love means letting go of control. Can they save him? Will Castiel choose to stay?

Numbness. Please, please, let the numbness set in soon. Dean couldn't tolerate that kind of pain any longer, even after thirty years of being shot, stabbed, broken, and mutilated. He'd take all of it at once if it meant seeing Castiel's motionless, charred body breathe again.

_C'mon, Cas. Just breathe._

A heated conversation swirled around him. He vaguely recognized his little brother shooting to his full, imposing stature and questioning a white haze nearby. Dean couldn't focus. He didn't care.

"Why did Amina survive falling but Cas didn't?" Sam demanded.

"God's final act of defiance before surrender. Kill the enemy lieutenants and damage the new leadership." Her soothing, lyrical voice softened even more. "God didn't anticipate Castiel's will to survive."

Exasperated, Sam pushed harder. "You're an angel, right? Fix him!"

"Sam, do you know who I am?" she asked patiently, tenderly.

"No," he replied with attitude in his tone.

Tinkling, gentle chuckles bubbled from her throat. "Calm, Sam. I am in control. I am the mother of all angels."

Somewhere in his isolated cloudy despair, Dean connected the cool breeze and sympathetic hand on his shoulder as belonging to the Virgin Mary. On the ground, kneeling beside Castiel's body, he turned his bleary eyes up to her petite presence as she conversed with Sam. She peered down at him, plump cheeks tinted rosy through her caramel skin, eyes as large and wise as Castiel's and Amina's, but darker than night. Curved lines deepened around her mouth with the faintest, comforting smile. Dean felt the confidence, control, and maternal grace exuding from her the way he felt heat exude from a radiator in winter.

Mary lifted her white linen skirts and stepped over Castiel's body, approaching Sam. She only stood tall enough to barely reach his chest but that was all the height she needed, apparently.

"I heal your wounded thigh," she said, touching her fingertips to his chest.

Quickly, she rounded the perimeter of the crater and reached out to Amina and Magdalena with each hand. Both women huddled together on the ground with heads bowed in reverence, eyes downcast, still spilling tears over fallen Castiel.

"I heal your wounded liver," she told Amina, "and I heal your wounded wrist," she told Magdalena.

"My liver?" Amina questioned.

"You must better heed the warning of pain as a human, dear. Internal bleeding is a dangerous thing," said Mary. She brushed fingertips over Amina's cheek and left her there.

Where Mary had touched Dean's family over their hearts to heal them, she never asked him to sit upright to reach him. He wouldn't have pulled away from Castiel's body, and maybe she knew that. She draped both of her palms over Dean's shoulders and lingered there, but for how long, he couldn't measure. Sensations he'd felt as a little boy of being carried around by his mother rose to the surface and fought the blackness he'd come to be seduced by over the years. His internal mechanisms swatted away Mary's comfort but she pushed back, like any good mother would.

"I heal your shoulder," she murmured.

The torn flesh mended at the command. His pain dissipated. Absently, he ripped away the bloody t-shirt Magdalena had tied around his wounds, which left him naked from the waist up. Dried blood, mud splatters, and filth he couldn't identify remained. He wished he could relish in being made whole again.

"Don't bother with me. Bring Cas back," Dean rasped, all to aware of the risk in smart-mouthing the mother of all angels who'd just won a war against _God_. He had nothing to lose. In fact, if she wasn't going to bring back Castiel, he wouldn't mind being smited right there next to him.

"Have I your faith, Dean?" asked Mary.

He glared over his shoulder at her. "No faith, no Cas. Is that it?"

"Not at all," her reply arrived with truthful flow. "It's one matter to profess your faith once given a miracle, but it's entirely different matter to hold onto that faith even in the darkest moments. I told you faith in me is a matter of free will and it always will be. Castiel will be given the choice to resurrect or not, even if you deny me your faith here and now. Think about it, Dean, because we've worked rather hard for the cause of freedom and sacrificed a great deal, haven't we?"

They had. He nodded reluctantly and his gaze fell on Castiel's motionless body once more.

"The time is coming for your faith to make the real difference in all of this, you know," she added. "You're wiser than you give yourself credit for, my boy. You know our cause is bigger than us."

"Bigger than being a goddess?" he scoffed bitterly.

Her calm selflessness sharpened in the air. "Yes."

A cool, soft hand caressed the strength in Dean's upper arm as Mary rose to her feet. She afforded him no opportunity to retort, to argue, or to plead for something more. Quietly, her fluid gait brought her to the rim of the crater and she climbed out of it without a speck of mud to soil her dress or the white linen veil cascading from the crown of her head.

"What's she doing?" Sam whispered, backing up beside Dean.

"I dunno," replied Dean.

"You okay?"

"I'm alive," he grunted noncommittally.

Sam's face continuously wrinkled deeper in disbelief. "Dude, what the hell?"

"No idea."

"It's the  _Virgin Mary_ ," he whispered as if she probably didn't hear.

Dean nodded weakly. "I know."

Mary's arms unfurled outward and the night curled around her body, where beautiful white hazy light illuminated from within her vessel, reaching into her true form. Surrounding cornstalks bent in her wake as if they acquiesced and bowed to the Queen of Heaven. In moments, she flattened an entire field into submission, rows upon rows of corn leaned into the ground like a maze of dominoes. She wandered the field with her hands opened toward the sky. It appeared that her fingertips tested the atmosphere in search of something.

"Castiel," she called into the darkness. "Castiel, come to Mother now."

As they watched for any sign of ... whatever was supposed to happen ... Dean felt Amina and Magdalena gather close behind them. Amina looped her arms around Sam's chest from behind and nestled her chin on his shoulder, sitting in the mud, desperate and hopeful tears shining in her eyes. Calm stillness in Magdalena's presence wedged between the brothers, though set back from them just slightly.

Dean lowered his eyes, unable to watch. The way Mary indicated Castiel had a choice in whether he'd return or he'd go on in death haunted him. If his angel chose not to come back, to give up....

Mary's voice rose again. "Castiel, my son, where do you hide?"

Anxious suspense tightened Dean's body until his muscles ached. He grabbed a handful of dirt and let it thread between his fingers and spill on the ground just to give his hands something to do. Internally, he listened to a constant stream of prayers. Low and rumbling at first, Dean was unable to discern his own words, but he felt the intention behind the syllables. His prayers grew louder, more impassioned, and shifted between direct routes to both Castiel and his mother.

"What's that?" Amina whispered.

Sam tilted forward beside Dean and squinted. He slapped Dean's arm for his attention and gestured toward the woods.

"There you are," cooed Mary gently in the distance.

Reluctance lifted Dean's eyes, immediately attracted to a bright white cloud emerging from the woods. The cloud illuminated the trees as it weaved around trunks crowded together like a huge lantern passing through darkness without a man to carry it. Ribbons of light unfurled from the luminous ball, the tendrils turning bluish the further they extended.

Radiant love brought a smile to the whole of Mary's face as she reached out to the glowing orb, sized close to a beach ball. It drew closer to her as if pulled by a force Dean couldn't see and came to rest in her outstretched hands. Pulling the ball of light to her bosom, an arm wrapped around the bottom of it and the other arm wrapped around the back, much like a mother carrying a toddler in her protection.

Except that was no toddler.

Dean knew it was Castiel's soul, the rawest, most exposed form of his existence as a human. He felt it as surely as he'd felt Castiel's grace flowing freely through his veins and arteries.

The soul's center shone so purely white and bright that it reminded Dean of a piece of a fallen star, yet the outer edges, the bluish ribbons of light, flowed like clear ocean water. Castiel was made of Heaven and Earth all at once, wrapped into one speck of life that loved mankind and angels enough to die for them. His light burned Dean's eyes and tears rolled from his lashes, though he couldn't discern whether the tears were of pain or beauty.

"Turn over the body," Mary instructed Sam as she came close.

Immediate obedience didn't quite seem like Sam but he turned over the body on its back. Dean saw the full extent of the damage for the first time, though his brain couldn't accept seeing Castiel's flesh so thoroughly cooked by falling through the atmosphere. Suddenly overcome, he spun away on his knees and retched into the mud.

"Dean!" shouted Sam, coming to his aid.

Magdalena got to him first and touched him with all the comfort she possessed. "It's okay," she whispered. "It'll all be over soon."

"Come, Dean," added Mary with unwavering strength. "Give me your hand. Dean? There is no pain. Come now. Let me have your hand."

It took every bit of courage he'd built up through bravado and fighting monsters over the years to turn around and face it again. Mary knelt without dirtying her white linen dress, the charred body separating them, and she offered a hand. Heat poured from Castiel's soul resting in her other arm. Dean squinted to protect his eyes as she pushed his palm onto the glowing ball.

"There," she whispered. "Now you can say you've touched his soul.  I'm giving you a chance to let him know you want him to resurrect. It won't work without his consent. Tell him, Dean, not with your words but the gift." Tranquil dark eyes encouraged him.

"You mean the empath thing," he guessed.

Mary nodded. "It is the language of the soul. You see, Dean, being an empath is not a curse. It's fluency in a language that could help so many lost souls find peace." She gave him a moment. "If you want him to stay, this is your chance."

"I don't know how," Dean replied on the verge of panic, though restrained under a cold exterior.

"Yes, you do. It's always been in you if you just listen to your instincts."

"Dean, please," begged Amina nearby, her voice small.

He glanced at his brother, who offered a sharp, silent nod, telling him that he could do it.

A quick sigh and a hand scrubbed down his face focused Dean and he knew he had to succeed. He inched closer, shuffling his position slightly, and rubbed his hands together in a warming motion. It probably wouldn't help at all but he was running on adrenalin and desperation. Thinking logically just wasn't in his repertoire at the moment.

_Okay, Cas, it's just you and me_ , Dean thought to himself as he opened his hands over the luminous, undulating soul situated in the crook of Mary's arm. He closed his eyes and chipped away at the walls, kicking through the urge to stop and run from it. To a Winchester, accessing that depth of emotion was a weakness. It opened them to getting killed and Dean fought the urge to grab at one of his many weapons just for going that far into himself.

And then the block on it simply let go. He admonished himself for placing personal pride over Castiel. If it had been Sam, it would have been easy. But Sam was blood and blood meant never backing down. Family meant choosing each other over and over again through every roadblock and evil, which was the sentiment passed through his soul, through his body, into Castiel's soul.

_I choose you_.  


A steady current of so many things Dean could never verbally articulate broke through the levee with those three words. He chose Castiel for life whether Castiel chose to live or not. If he had to wait until he died to be with Castiel again, then that was how it had to be. Being dragged back into life against his will just wasn't the way he wanted it to go. Dean knew too much about dying and living again and again. He didn't want Castiel to live for him out of some bullshit misguided sense of guilt like he carried around every day of his own life.

Dean's epiphany pierced into Castiel's soul.

_I choose your happiness_.  


A response shoved right back into Dean's chest, wordlessly, yet wrapped up in a lexicon of confession. It all amounted to one thing.

_I choose us_.  


Sharply, Dean inhaled and his eyes opened with abrupt awareness, shifting to Mary.

Her smile came slowly, approvingly. "It is decided then."

"What?" Sam pressed. "What happened?"

"I did it," Dean whispered. "What happens now?"

Mary ignored his question, already fixed on her task. The palm of her free hand splayed over the body's chest. Dean glanced at it and realized the attachment to the body - the vessel - disappeared, knowing fully for the first time that what he loved was the grace, the soul, or any form that made up Castiel's essence. The body was just a body until he filled it.

They watched, gathered around the body in the dirt and filth of the crater Castiel's fall created, as Mary's hand filled with an intense pool of her personal light. She healed the body piece by piece, cell by cell, restoring it. Burns melted away into healthy, supple, strong flesh. Shards of scorched fabric remained where his clothes burned off in the fall, leaving the body more naked than covered. No one paid it any mind so long as Castiel came back to them.

Rising on her knees, Mary lifted the soul above the body in a ceremonial repose. Dean wanted to reach out and hold it from his side too, but he checked himself as she recited phrases in Enochian. The body's chest appeared to open before their eyes, yet it was only light parting to welcome the soul back home.

Once she pushed Castiel's soul back into his body, Dean expected him to immediately return to life. He watched, holding his breath, waiting in increasing panic for Castiel to breathe. Pale, bluish lips didn't twitch. No eyelash fluttered.

"Something's wrong," he spat.

"Dean..." Mary cautioned.

Desperately, he shook Castiel's body and shouted at Mary, "Do something!"

She snatched Dean by the wrists and forced him to still. Her dark eyes went stern with a warning to be patient. _To have faith_. Disbelief gripped him in long, shaky breaths as Magdalena's calm touch registered along his shoulders. His eyes dropped to Castiel's waxy face again and his racing thoughts pleaded with him to breathe.

The second Dean let go of trying to  _control_ , Castiel's body lurched and twisted. His throat opened as he sharply sucked in a ragged, breath, unable to get enough air into his lungs. Dean leaned over him and shouted his name, which exploded a burst of life into his blue eyes. He didn't quite believe Castiel was back until the initial gasping for air calmed and they met eyes. Silent communication passed between them, confirming the deeper turn in their bond when Dean laid hands on his soul.

Calmly, Dean said, "Magdalena, there's an army blanket in my trunk."

"I'll get it," she replied as she jogged away.

"There now," Mary murmured, passing fingers through Castiel's hair. "All is as it should be."

"No, not yet. I owe you my blood. You know, your ascension," said Dean.

"There's time. Not now. My handmaidens will come for you at the Men of Letters bunker. There will be a ceremony in two days time to give my highest host their collective grace back and to partake in my ascension." Her coffee-black eyes tracked Magdalena's return with the old, ratty army blanket. "Magdalena will come with me now."

"What? No." Protectively, Dean kept a hand on Castiel but turned possessively toward Magdalena, who covered Castiel's body with the blanket.

"It's okay, Dean," she said quietly. "Get Castiel to someplace safe where he can rest. I'll see you soon."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked.

"You can come with us," added Amina.

"Someone has to fill the gaps left by the angels who were killed," countered Magdalena. "The war is over. I'm safe."

And that was it. Just like all socially inept angels, a fluttering of Mary's unseen wings took her away with Magdalena in tow. He exchanged the briefest of silent glances with Amina.

By the time they got to their cars, Castiel was walking on his own with the blanket tightly wrapped around him. Dean gave him clothes from his trunk and he silently dressed in the car as Sam and Amina followed in their car on the highway. The first few motels they passed weren't fit for roaches and Dean just didn't know how strong or broken Castiel felt. He said nothing along the way.

A clean motel chain finally presented itself on the other side of Joplin and they checked into two rooms. In the morning, they decided, they'd check on their wounded scattered in local hospitals before they'd head back to Lebanon.

The full weight of the fighting, seeing Castiel die, and watching him live again as a human man didn't hit Dean, though, until he carried their bags into their motel room. Castiel stood at the end of the bed silently staring a hole into his reflection in the mirror behind the television. No glorious black raven wings. No silver halo. No more constant beautiful hum of grace in his touch. He seemed to struggle to grasp the changes, not that Dean blamed him.

But Dean struggled too. He struggled with how quickly it could have ended for both of them. Dying together would have been far more bearable than living the second half of his life without that creature - now that very mortal  _man_.

Castiel's face turned toward Dean, sensing him in the room.

They said nothing to one another. They hadn't, really, since Dean laid hands on his soul. Dean dumped their bags on the floor and crossed the floor in just a few long strides. He needed to know, to feel, that Castiel really stood there, that he was whole again. Before his brain caught up with his hands, he watched the rough, calloused fingers card through Castiel's hair and down the sides of his face.

"Dean..." His throat sounded dry.

Dean ignored his hoarse questioning. He spread his touch across the breadth of Castiel's shoulders, over his chest, thanking whatever was out there that he felt strong even as a man. Down his arms, his wrists, each of his hands, and more thanks came for every joint remaining in tact.

"I'm okay, Dean," assured Castiel quietly, catching on.

By the time Dean walked a full circle around him, hands passing over his spine and the rise of his backside, tears stung his eyes in raw gratitude. Now that he was human, it all became more precarious. Facing Castiel again, Dean sank to his knees as his hands pulled down the length of Castiel's body from his shoulders down to his abdomen. Patient, watchful blue eyes observed as Dean satisfied himself that each leg and foot were in tact as well. He couldn't speak. He could only feel, as if something deeply buried in him snapped.

"Dean," he tried again, a hand through his hair.

Finally satisfied that everything was in one piece, Dean looked up at him from his knees.

"I'm okay," Castiel repeated. His thumb grazed Dean's lips. "I'm just me."

Still unable to speak, like the silence in childhood trauma, Dean stretched up on his knees and linked arms around Castiel's waist. Jeans buttons pressed into his throat and the mud on his face stuck to the cotton t-shirt as he buried his cheek against him, but Dean didn't care. He closed his eyes, mourning the loss of the angel he'd known for so many years. The scent of roses no longer filled his nose and the rustling of feathers no longer grazed his arms as he embraced Castiel. That stung. It burned.

But the man with the new soul stood as alive as him. He was still Castiel, who's hands lovingly caressed Dean's arms and shoulders, never pushing him away.


	32. Grant Us Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a postwar universe, the Winchesters, Castiel, and Amina wait anxiously for the dust to settle, yet they all don't seem to know what to do with themselves in peacetime. Amina tries to help Sam see his worth to the family now that the war has ended. Meanwhile, Dean knows he should be overjoyed and relieved that Castiel is alive again, but he has serious reservations about the new state of his existence. They struggle to communicate and realize they're fighting for the same future instead of fighting against each other.

Letting Amina out of his sight just didn't sit well with Sam that night. He followed her into the motel bathroom, into the shower, and she didn't argue. Maybe she needed him close as much as he needed to be close.

Amina stood under the shower rinsing out the length of her chocolaty dark hair. Water turned muddy down her naked body and she reached for the shampoo to wash it again. Behind her, watching in silence, Sam soaped up his own body. Neither of them said a word for a long time, as if they weren't allowed to feel relief that they survived when so many others were killed. But he was grateful. Maybe the cycle of evil that often stole women he loved finally ended. The lovely, soft, tough woman stood in the shower with him, alive and well.

Sam's mind wouldn't let him rest though. He found himself reaching around her slick abdomen and pressing fingers into her gut, searching for any sign of pain. She could have been bleeding away right there without either of them knowing it until she collapsed and died. It scared him to death.

"Mother healed me. I'm all right now," she said, her soft voice bouncing off the shower walls.

Sam leaned into her, long arms secured tightly around her wet body. "You sure? No pain?" The water started to cool off. They'd been in the shower too long. He tugged her closer and kissed the curve of her neck.

"I'm sure," she whispered.

Sam let out a breath and tried to relax. "What can I do for you?"

The woman who'd spent millions of years doing what she was told still had trouble asking anything for herself. She turned the knob and the shower shut off, but she didn't answer him. Instead, she twisted her hair, wringing it out, and dried off.

"Come on. Anything," Sam pressed as he handed her another towel and then grabbed one for himself.

Hesitant blue eyes lifted to his. "Well, you used to comb my hair when I was learning to be human. Remember?"

"Yeah. It was a good excuse to get my hands on you." He attempted a half-smile, which she apparently couldn't resist. He chucked. "That's what you want? Comb your hair again?"

"It's a good excuse to get your hands on me," Amina said as she left the bathroom, the towel tucked around her chest.

There she was. His Amina still existed despite the war.

Sam followed Amina to the bed where she managed to still sit like a lady while wearing a towel, her legs folded to the side. Just like the first night he combed her hair in a Colorado motel, he situated behind her with the brush from her bag. He'd been attracted to her even then when she still had a haughty aristocratic sense about her, freshly tossed out of Heaven. Humanity had humbled her, he reflected as he smoothed her hair under the brush, but she still retained the fight, the inability to quit even when emotions got in her way.

"I'm worried about my brother," she admitted over the low volume of the television.

"I'm worried about my brother too," replied Sam.

"Then we're one in the same."

"We usually are." He crossed an arm over the front of her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. Cold, wet hair stuck to his skin as she settled beneath his chin. "They're special, I guess. You know, like once in a zillion years kind of special. They're gonna work it out. They always do."

"Are we not that special?" she asked, mildly offended.

"No, I didn't mean that. I just, you know ... since the demon blood. I always count myself as the weakest part of this family. Cas and Dean, they're so much stronger. I don't worry about them as much, even when stuff like tonight happens, because Dean is ... he's the best of all of us."

Amina wriggled around in his arms. She fit her thighs over his lap in a tangle of towels and loosely draped her arms around his neck. "You're wrong. You're the rock of this family. Without you, we'd all fall on our faces. Especially me. I hope you learn to see yourself the way we do because I know Dean and Castiel would agree with me if they were here right now. You keep all of us clothed and fed, you make sure we all do the right thing, you're always there pushing us when we need it, and you love. You love selflessly in spite of everything you've been through." She silenced his protests before he could voice them, a kiss searing his lips. "We are one in a zillion, as you call it."

"Baby, I love you," whispered Sam, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you too," she whispered back. "And I can't wait to marry you."

He couldn't either, really, but, "It's hard to think of a wedding after today." Images of blood and light spurting from headless angel bodies twisted his face away from hers.

"I know," she replied quietly. "I never fought while being saddled with emotions either. I've been a soldier long before the idea of you ever existed but I never felt the fear or the adrenalin or the sorrow. I just did what I was told. This time was different though. I felt everything and now I feel guilt for being happy to sit here with you."

"Well--"

"--I'm not finished." Her fingertip touched his lips and a half-smile lifted her face just slightly. "This anxiety I've been going through has taught me something important. We have a choice in life. We can either mourn what can never happen or what can never be recovered, or we can live for everyone who didn't make it. Tonight, I may feel guilty for feeling happiness here with you, but tomorrow we'll get up and we'll keep going. In time, we'll have a little wedding and we'll live out everything we want to do. The war was about freedom, you know? We can't waste it." She took his face in his hands and kissed him again. "Okay?"

Sam wasn't used to that kind of optimism. Usually his life amounted to shit, but the hopeful twinkle in her blue eyes made him want to try it her way. Maybe she was right.

He combed fingers through her wet hair, which then traced the outward curves of her breasts through the towel. Carefully, he tugged open the towel and passed a hand languidly from her collarbones to her belly button. Nuzzling the clean, soapy scent in the crook of her neck, he wrapped his arms around her tapered waist and pulled her tightly against him, thighs gripped around his waist.

"It's okay to be happy," she whispered.

*****

It was weird. It unsettled Dean. The sun rose and soft light passed over Castiel's face on his pillow. He slept. And drooled. And lightly snored. Seeing him in such a  _human_  position unnerved Dean, who sat on his own side of the bed facing him. The motel room came with a coffee maker and, after his four hours, he sat in bed trying to process everything as he sipped from a white mug. It bothered him that he so deeply mourned the loss of the angel when the essence of his lover remained in tact, breathing, and healed.

Lover didn't seem like the right word anymore either. Dean crossed his legs on the bed, thinking of how touching the raw soul of another being made every word to describe their bond somehow inadequate.

Castiel rolled over in his sleep, tangled up in blankets, and bumped into Dean's knee. Blue eyes slowly opened, groggy, and turned up to his face. He fought off sleepiness as if thinking he should just be able to snap out of it immediately. And then he yawned. He  _yawned_. Dean wanted to shy away from human mannerisms but he forced himself to remain steady. He guessed he had to get used to it.

"Dean," he began, voice foreign and thick with sleep, "why aren't you asleep? It's early."

"I'm watching over you," he said quietly.

Naked under the blankets, Castiel awkwardly rubbed his eyes and sat up on his elbow. Part of the blanket fell from his bare chest. Wings no longer stretched behind him the way he stretched out kinks in them whenever he'd been still for too long. Dean's eyes dropped to the black coffee steaming in his mug, momentarily unable to cope with that sight.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

Disbelief turned Castiel's head to one side. "Dean..."

"Tell me why Mary resurrected you as a human and not an angel."

The sudden statement hit Castiel hard. He turned away, throwing off the blankets, and he stood, stretching his arms over his head as naked as a baby. "I think I have to urinate," he said curiously, moving for the bathroom without bothering to get dressed.

"I asked you a question!" Dean yelled toward the bathroom.

"No, you didn't!" he shouted back. "You made a request into a statement!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Damn it, Cas."

The toilet flushed and he swore he heard Castiel mutter "interesting" before he washed his hands. At least he understood that aspect of cleanliness, but the whole thing still bothered Dean.

Castiel emerged from the bathroom again. He dug out a pair of boxers from the bag he shared with Dean and put them on, apparently for a proper conversation. He tucked a leg under himself as he sat before Dean on the bed. For Dean's part, he folded his arms over his chest and waited, refusing to repeat the question.

"Dean," he began with some hesitation, "it's really quite simple. When I went back to serve Mother, she made me an offer to be created an archangel in her host should she win the war."

"Wow..." That wasn't what Dean expected. His brow lifted in shock.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, wow. Archangels are the most powerful and fearsome of all angels. There aren't many compared to hundreds of seraphim, which I am - I mean _was_."

"She can do that? Create angels?"

"Once she ascends to being a goddess, yes. She can create or transform anything she pleases, like God," Castiel explained. "Half of Heaven now belongs to her. The angels will be divided among them according to which side they took in the war and humans will pass to one or the other when they die depending on where their faith lies, supposing they don't go to Hell. Mother needs her own archangels now, so she offered it to me first."

"So what's the problem? It sounds like an amazing promotion."

"Yes and no." Castiel's gaze fell and he sighed. "Serving my mother in that manner is a great honor. That much is true. She said I would be her first angel - her heir." His hand slid under Dean's and he absently stroked one of the hunter's fingers. "But being an archangel means near total detachment from humanity. I would never see you until you died."

Dean soaked in the news in silence and contemplated what it meant to never have Castiel with him, to be horrifyingly powerful if he did see him as an archangel. The brief encounters he'd had with archangels amounted to nothing better than power hungry dicks.

"So, what, she yanked all your juice because you didn't want to be an archangel?" If so...

"No. I was allowed to choose my own path. She takes freedom rather seriously."

"You... You...  _chose_ to give up your grace?"

Though Castiel nodded, there was clearly more to it. "I didn't choose the way I fell though. Madriel captured Mother's lieutenants just as we were discussing my choice to be human after the war. It infuriated God. Falling is blasphemous, you know, so rather than kill me outright, He had me burned in holy oil and pushed to Earth, expecting me to die before I hit the ground." He fidgeted with a loose string on the blanket. "Mother remembered my last request and honored it. She resurrected me as a human soul."

That certainly wasn't the scenario Dean had created in his mind overnight. Without a word, he rolled off the bed and wandered to the window, suddenly in need of a cigarette. He plucked one from the pack, sparked the end, and kept the smoke flowing out of the window.

"Dean?" he broached.

"At least I ganked Madriel. That felt good." Sighing, he sucked another long drag from his smoke. Then he looked at Castiel again. "You're an angel, Cas. You've been an angel forever. How can you walk away from that for me?"

"For  _us_ ," he corrected. "I chose us. And forever is infinite. I'm not infinite. I have an age."

"Fine, you're not infinite, but you're human now, Cas.  _Human_. That means you'll die. You'll get sick, or you'll get shot or some bullshit thing that happens to all of us, and you'll die. Do you know what you're getting into here? I love you but I can't be the reason you turn your back on everything you've been for millions of years. I can't be the reason you just ... quit."

"You're not the reason," Castiel argued in an even tone. "You're the incentive that makes human life worth living. I said you gave me life and I meant it."

"Oh yeah? Then what is the reason you quit?"

Castiel's jaw clenched. "I'm not quitting, Dean."

"What do you call it?" He stamped out the cigarette butt in a plastic cup.

Sighing rather deeply, Castiel left the bed and approached Dean. His warm hand caressed Dean's jawline. "Can you understand that I'm exhausted beyond the depths of weariness with constantly killing in the name of a bigger cause? You've forced me to examine who I am with free will and what I want my life to mean. I've been a soldier for so long that I'm enticed by the idea of waking up and having coffee without knowing what might happen that day. I spent millennia protecting humanity, so now I want to ... to  _retire_ , if you will ... and experience the humanity that I served all this time. Can you understand that?"

Dean understood his weariness with killing but he couldn't comprehend it as long as Castiel did. Quitting had never been an option for him. He knew Castiel didn't view it as quitting, but John Winchester's voice echoed in Dean's head, recalling his rages when Sam quit hunting to go to Stanford.

"What happens when you're unfulfilled by humanity? Or ... what happens if you stop ... stop loving me?" Jesus, he hated talking about feelings. His life wasn't a chick flick, for Christ's sake, but damn it, somebody had to ask the hard questions.

His head tilted just slightly, almost imperceptive, and his eyes softened around the edges. "Do you truthfully believe our amorous bond will fade now that I've fallen?" And then his eyes hardened. "Perhaps your love was contingent on my grace. Without it, perhaps I've lost my appeal."

"No, Cas, that's not what I me--"

"--No? I woke up  _feeling_ just now." He tapped his chest. " _Feeling_ , Dean. Not just my amorous bond with you anymore. I'm afraid. It's terrifying to think I'm no longer what you need because I can't heal you, or fly, or smite to protect us. I  _chose_ us and I felt that you'd done the same when you touched my soul, but you're still seeing the world through  _your_ eyes when it's  _us_ now. I thought about falling for weeks and you promised that you would give me your faith and devotion no matter what form I took. Now I'm standing here and we're still debating the what ifs."

He swallowed hard as if processing a lot of confused emotions. "Should I go back to Mother and ask for my grace back? Will that please you, Dean? Will you make me watch you grow old while I never age and then watch you die? Will you make me live for millions of more years only briefly visiting you in Heaven from time to time? Or are you going to try doing this  _life_ with  _me_ like your brother and my sister are doing?" His sigh turned ragged and exhausted. "Tell me what you want! I'll do it!"

"Calm down. Take a breath." Sighing, Dean's fingers gently wrapped around the back of Castiel's neck, trying to ground him. He'd seen Amina short-circuit on too many conflicting emotions early in her existence as a human just that way.

Castiel braced a palm on the wall and took a deep breath just as Dean told him to do.

"Your wings are gone," commented Dean, awkwardly attempting to articulate things he didn't quite understand yet. "It was tough, you know, waking up this morning and not rolling over into a mouthful of feathers."

Castiel squinted. " _That's_ why we're having an argument? My wings?"

"N-no, I..." He took a deep breath and tried again. "We're coming up on 2014, Cas."

It took a minute but the slow sense of recognition came over Castiel's features. "Dean, it's ... it's not going to be like that."

"How do you know?" And then, a whole rambling slew of worries spilled from Dean that he didn't actually know plagued him until he spoke them out loud.  "I saw what happened to you. Zachariah sure as hell made sure of it. You were high on pills and scamming chicks into orgies. You were broken." He pursed his mouth tightly shut and shook his head. "I’ll never forgive myself if I’m the reason you go down that road again."

The new human man listened with wide eyes as if he finally understood, as if they finally spoke the same language. His head bowed in consideration.

"Whether you're technically an angel, or a man, or a woman doesn't matter to me. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Cas. What scares me shitless is humanity breaking you and changing who you are inside. You only get one soul. I'm afraid of watching it break, or worse, being the one who breaks it."

"But Dean, the difference between then and now is I chose to fall. Zachariah showed you what happened when I wasn't given a choice. I was cut off from home and abandoned by my brothers and sisters. Am I right?" he said.

Dean shrugged and avoided looking him in the eye.

Castiel grabbed his hand. "Look at me, Dean." He waited until Dean acquiesced. "I haven't been abandoned this time and that's why I'm not going to break, as you say. Most importantly, I have my mother's support, which I haven't had in thousands of years. Not even Zachariah could have predicted that, nor could he have predicted what you and I are to each other now. And my grace still exists. I chose to fall just like I can choose to ascend again if humanity doesn't agree with me." Castiel stepped closer, calmer then, and laid a hand over Dean’s heart. "We can do this. I have faith in us. I’m done killing. I want to live now."

A light chuckle shook Dean's shoulders. "What exactly are we gonna do? Get married, buy a house, and have kids?"

Castiel's brow arched and he shrugged. "Why not? Or we could all hunt as a family. Who knows?" He reaffirmed his point with more animated, human gestures. "That's the part that entices me, Dean. I don't know what's going to happen and I like that. Amina was right in saying we've never had that before. And I want to walk through life with you. It wasn't just a need to protect you as an angel. It's a very real profound bond clinging to my soul even when we're apart."

"You're starting to sound like a chick flick," Dean groaned, feeling better.

Smirking, Castiel grabbed Dean's chin. "It won't kill you."

"Shut up," Dean replied as he bumped noses with Castiel, merging into a deep, cathartic kiss. He had the presence of mind to pull away just enough, asking, "Are we okay now?" between plunges into new kisses.

"Yes," Castiel hummed against his lips.

"Hmm," hummed Dean in return as if tasting something delicious. "Make-up sex is the best sex."

It made Castiel laugh, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth turning beautifully deep, and it stopped Dean momentarily. He couldn't recall ever hearing Castiel laugh so thoroughly before. Those new human habits were going to take time for both of them to learn. Instantly, though, Dean knew he wanted to hear that laugh every day.

But he broke their kiss, hands framing Castiel's face to make sure he listened carefully. "But if you pop even one pill you don't need, I'm gonna scream for Mommy and make her shove your grace down your throat again. Got it?"

Castiel nodded but his lips quirked into a smile. "What about orgies?"

"Oh God, Cas." Dean rolled his eyes and playfully shoved Castiel back.

Laughing again, Castiel searched for clean clothes in their bag. "I suppose I could invite you too." He kept laughing as if the sensation became addicting to him. "The ladies will have to like you before we invite you though, of course. Or the men, for that matter." He shrugged and pulled a brick red t-shirt over his head. "What do you think? Blondes? Redheads?"

"We're not having an orgy, Cas!" laughed Dean, headed for the bathroom to shower.

*****

"Castiel! You're up! You look good!" shouted Amina excitedly.

Castiel smiled. "I feel fine, sister."

She skipped across the parking lot like a little girl with a long, dark ponytail bouncing back and forth. One of Magdalena's old mossy green dresses cinched her waist tightly and flowed freely at her knees. No one would have ever guessed she'd fought in a bloody, dangerous battle the previous day. Sam trailed behind, looking rather tired, as Amina flung her arms around Castiel's neck and kissed his cheek.

Dean dumped their things in the Impala's trunk and smirked at Sam's yawn. "Didn't you sleep?"

"Not much. Long night. I need coffee bad," he replied.

The four of them found a diner just like the hundreds of other diners the Winchesters visited over the years, except that morning, all of them were human. They weren't there investigating a case. They simply grabbed a bite to eat before making their rounds at different hospitals to check on their wounded. And then they'd go home.

None of them realized it was Castiel's first meal as a human until the waitress asked him what he wanted and he stared at the menu like it was written in hieroglyphics. Dean ordered for him - simple sunny side up eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon - to which the waitress smirked as if it was the sweetest thing. Then he realized she thought he was being a gentleman and ordering for his boyfriend. The discomfort still existed but he noticed it didn't bother him so much anymore to be found out by strangers.

"This is weird," Sam commented as he stirred cream into coffee.

"What?" asked Dean.

"We're just having breakfast.  _Cas_ is having breakfast too." He dropped his voice too low for strangers around them to hear. "I'm not armed either. We're not sitting here arguing over a case or waiting for the next piece of news about the war. We're just eating breakfast as a family. It's very weird."

Amina sipped the prized raspberry lemonade that she ordered wherever she found it. "We're all due for a break."

"I don't even know what to do with a break," Dean admitted.

"Neither do I," added Castiel. "It's great not to know, really."

"We have to get through the ... what is it called ... the ascension ceremony before I'd consider us really free though," Sam said. "A lot can happen between now and then."

"Be positive. It's all going to be fine," said Amina, patting his thigh.

Dean swallowed a good mouthful of his coffee. "What's this ceremony about anyway?"

"I don't have any idea. I've never seen it done," Amina replied.

"I have."

Three sets of eyes focused on Castiel, all abrupt and filled with questions.

"I was stationed in Egypt when Isis ascended. I guess that was about--" his eyes turned up to the ceiling as if counting, "--over four thousand years ago now."

"Time flies," Dean mumbled.

Amina's scholarly mind couldn't resist, apparently. "What was it like?"

"Much more peaceful, for one thing. Isis was created by the god of the earth and goddess of the sky, so it was more of a hereditary ascension. She married her brother, Osiris, and he allowed her to have her own throne, which is when her ascension took place." Castiel's face smoothed and relaxed as he recounted his memories. "It's not unlike the coronation of a human monarch, I suppose. It's less rigid with protocol and more about the ascension spells, which are witnessed by the deity's most valued faithful. There's celebrating afterward, and then the deity typically works a series of deeds to make his or her presence known to the faithful on Earth."

Dean listened intently. "So I basically give her my blood, she does her mojo thing, and there's a party?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said through an amused smile.

"Is there a throne?" Amina asked curiously.

"Isis had a golden throne. I thought it was a bit ostentatious. I've only seen an ascension done once though," he cautioned. "It may be different with Mother. She isn't quite so ... opulent."

Nodding, Amina conceded, "Yeah, that's true."

"Wait," Sam interrupted, "does this mean I have to wear a suit?"

"Ugh." That idea made Dean's face curl in disgust. "Dude, it's way too hot for suits. I'm exercising my free will on this one."

"But you look good in suits, Dean," jabbed Castiel with a lopsided smile.


	33. The Goddess Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this day, the Virgin Mary ascends higher to that of a goddess, forever shedding her angel wings. But she can't do it without the blood of the Righteous Man, Dean Winchester. His role is perhaps the most important in the ascension spell, yet he still isn't certain of whether he'll do it. If they hurt Lia's soul, he knows what he has to do.

"Any idea where we are?" Dean whispered to Sam, walking along an arid, desert path, led by one of the Virgin Mary's handmaidens. He couldn't tell which one, nor did the dark, bending trees and vegetation resemble anything in Kansas.

Shrugging, Sam whispered back, "Not a clue."

Dean adjusted the chest of grace vials tucked under his arm and kept a constant watchful eye for thieves. The handmaiden led them along a trail up the western face of a low-rise mountain that overlooked a small, ancient city. He smelled sea air but saw no shores nearby. They passed occasional olive trees, which brought up vague, unidentified biblical lore in his mind. He glanced over his shoulder and found Castiel hiking close behind, eyes pointed toward the city below.

"Where are we, Cas?" he asked discreetly.

"Nazareth," the handmaiden replied loud enough for them all. "The earthly birthplace of My Lady."

Stunned, Dean's brows knitted together. "Israel? We're in Israel?"

The hike took another fifteen minutes as they rose higher. He expected they were headed to the top, but occasional people dressed in white began lingering around boulders. At least he didn't feel so much like a bad family photo anymore with the Winchester men told to wear white dress shirts and Amina in a tasteful white dress. Everyone else must have gotten the same message. And as they passed into more people, they parted to the sides of the footpath as if they recognized him.

Along the slope of the mountain, a cave's mouth opened to a mass of people in white, who Dean assumed were the highest host awaiting the return of their graces. The Virgin Mary's handmaiden parted the clogged crowd, allowing Dean passage inside of the cave. He looked back at Castiel, Sam, and Amina ushered to the head of the crowd. Castiel's eyes softened and he nodded encouragingly.

"Dean, welcome," Magdalena greeted, taking the chest from his arm.

He turned toward her but had to stop himself from jumping backwards with the sudden wall of angelic energy. It smacked him in the face, much more powerful than the grace she possessed when he met her. And yet, it felt like being fed through a funnel.

"You're an archangel," he whispered.

Magdalena formed a quiet, knowing smile as she tilted closer for a shared secret. "Not yet," she whispered back. "You sense my anticipation. Well done."

"Oh." He nodded with a brief flash of a smile. "Congratulations, I guess."

"Thank you." She led him by the arm off to one side, alone and separated from the gawking graceless angels. "When your time comes, the handmaidens will lead you. Okay? You're okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, unconsciously rubbing a hand on his dress pants.

Dean waited against a moist, cool stone wall and took in the sight of an empty throne facing the crowds gathered at the mouth of the cave. He expected the cave had some historical importance but his biblical knowledge amounted to very little. He folded his arms over his chest and stood with his feet apart in that posture that he found both imposing and in control. The throne stood tall near the cave wall, made of a richly colored dark wood inlaid with mother of pearl and ... he squinted ... sapphires? Elegant, yes, but nowhere near as opulent as the throne Isis used in Castiel's description.

An altar, or what he thought resembled an altar, stood on the middle of the cave. The table made of a light colored stone contained a polished wood pitcher and a wide bowl, as well as flowers, a mortar and pestle, and the glass jar sealed by the light of grace. Lia.

Dean stiffened at the soul on display there, a martyred soul that he collected in New Orleans for that very ascension spell. The handmaidens promised Lia wouldn't be hurt in the process but seeing her soul still contained in that jar made it all too real for him. If they hurt Lia, he wouldn't follow through with his end of the deal. They would just have to find another Righteous Man to bleed for the cause, he thought smugly, knowing there was no other such man besides him.

At that moment, a hush fell over the crowd and the spillover outside. The cool air in the cave thickened as if the moisture conducted electricity. With three handmaidens lined up behind the throne, a column of harsh white light spilled from the cave's ceiling to the seat. The Virgin Mary materialized within the bright column, which then dissolved into her body as if nothing existed in her vessel except that light.

She looked regal with a tall, elegant posture despite being so small of stature. Her white linen dress hadn't changed at all, except a dusting of glimmer that Dean couldn't quite see. Light moved with her like glitter. Framing the veil on her head, a crown of twelve diamond stars sparkled with just the slightest movement. Mary resembled the physical embodiment of the moon. Her handmaidens resembled the physical embodiment of the sun.

The handmaiden furthest from Dean rounded the throne and she dipped her knees in a deep curtsy. Palpable silence filled the cave as she turned her attention to the altar, where she plucked petals from white roses and lilies. She then crushed the blooms into finely ground powder with the mortar and pestle. Water from the pitcher poured into the bowl, where she sprinkled the crushed flower petals like a recipe. Reverently, she raised the bowl toward the cave's ceiling, where the undeniable sound of boiling water filled the cave.

"I bestow upon My Lady, Mary of Nazareth, the virtue of purity passed through the lily; and the strength to shower the universe in love and beauty through the rose," she spoke loudly for all witnesses present. "I offer these gifts to Her Grace by the constancy of flowing water in the greatness, beauty, and goodness in the Cedar of Lebanon."

She replaced the polished cedar bowl on the altar and curtsied to Mary again as she returned to her place behind the throne. It occurred to Dean that the direct doorway to Heaven in Lebanon, Kansas, was no accident. He understood.

A second handmaiden curtsied to Mary and took her turn at the altar. She turned her palm skyward, curling her fingers, and flexing them open again. There appeared three olives in her palm. Her hand clamped shut and she squeezed the olives into the polished cedar bowl. And like the handmaiden before her, she lifted the bowl toward the ceiling with an identical reverent posture.

"I bestow upon My Lady, Mary of Nazareth, the power to shower the universe in peace, hope, and abundance," she invoked. Again, the bowl's contents boiled. "I offer these gifts to Her Grace by the constancy of flowing water in the greatness, beauty, and goodness in the Cedar of Lebanon."

As the second handmaiden took her place behind the throne again, the third identical lady stepped forward. She repeated the reverent curtsy offered by the other two, but instead of making her offering at the altar, she glided across the cave floor toward Dean. she briefly looked him in the eye as she grasped his hands and he felt her gentleness. She was Sorina, he realized, as she brought him to bow before the Virgin.

Dean glanced at the masses of graceless angels dressed in white spilling outside from the mouth of the cave. They watched him back in the sort of stillness that never could have been entirely human. His eyes passed over Sam and Amina in the front, who both nodded in slow silence. Castiel stood beside them, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed calm, which quieted the idea in Dean's mind that it could have been a threat. Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, he recognized Bastet surrounded by women of similar feline appearance. They must have been her own handmaidens.

Sorina rolled up the sleeve of his white dress shirt and exposed his forearm. A graceful twist of her wrist produced a pointed knife made of gold with a polished cedar handle. Before he could stop her, she sliced into his artery. Blood spurted into the bowl, more blood than he expected to give, and he knew people bled to death from slitting open that artery. His eyes flashed up to Castiel's face and saw his jaw clench.

"I bestow upon My Lady, Mary of Nazareth, the power of her faithful servants as represented by the blood of the Righteous Man, who bleeds for freedom of the heart, mind, body, and soul. May all of mankind choose to learn and worship in peace," offered Sorina. Just as she lifted the bowl, Dean saw his blood boiling in the water, crushed flowers, and crushed olives. "I offer these gifts to Her Grace by the constancy of flowing water in the greatness, beauty, and goodness in the Cedar of Lebanon."

She cast an eye toward Dean and he understood that he was to turn and bow as she curtsied to Mary, but the blood freely flowing from his wrist freaked him out. He froze, stunned, until Sorina snatched his other arm and spun him around, facing Mary. Dumbly, he bent at the waist but his wrist fucking hurt and his blood spilled all over the floor.

Leaning down from her throne, the Virgin Mary silently touched Dean's bloody wrist. The wound shrunk under her control and an invisible silky cloth wiped away his blood. Dean glanced up at her serene face. As Sorina rose from her low curtsy, she passed her hand to the side, indicating that Dean's end of the bargain had been fulfilled.

And that was that. Dean gratefully melted into the sidelines. His wrist didn't even look sliced open at all. And truthfully, it confused him that Mary healed the wound after she had no need of him anymore. Any other god or goddess would have let him bleed to death without a second thought, or worse still, devoured him like an ascension ceremony party snack. She cared about his welfare.

Magdalena's figure caught his attention as she approached the altar. There, she took the glass jar containing Lia's soul and tapped the lid three times, which released the light seal. Upon opening the jar, the bluish glow illuminated her face as she curled her fingers above the rim and pulled out the cloud of Lia's essence. Dean quickly ran through a plan of attack should they hurt the child, and a huge part of him expected that. Magdalena turned her palm upward and the brightly lit soul followed.

"I bestow upon My Lady, Mary of Nazareth, dominion over all angels who choose to serve Her Grace in Heaven and on Earth," she said. "I offer these gifts to Her Grace by the release of a martyred mortal soul into her territorial dominion of Heaven. Arise, faithful soul, to eternal peace and contentment in the name of our Queen."

Astonished, Dean watched Magdalena's curled fingers release and she gently pushed the beautiful glowing soul toward Heaven. And just like that, Lia played her part. She rose into long overdue peace, the first soul to occupy Mary's portion of Heaven. Tears stung Dean's eyes, though he swallowed them back and shifted on his feet, maintaining his tough, masculine presence. In silence, Magdalena then backed away.

All three of the handmaidens approached the altar again. This must be the grand finale, Dean thought, wishing Sam was close enough to hear his commentary. But he cleared his throat and forced himself to be respectfully quiet, feeling like an antsy kid in church.

Sorina, Batina, and Claudia framed the bowl in their hands and poured the mixture into a golden chalice. It resembled darkened tomato soup with Dean's blood in it, which struck him as awfully macabre for the kind of feminine elegance the Virgin Mary exuded. One of the handmaidens presented the chalice to the goddess-to-be and all three sank into deep curtsies in choreographed unison. She took the chalice and, for the first time, rose from the throne. Both hands presented it heavenward as her eyes scanned the crowds as if trying to remember everything of that moment.

And as Mary poured the potion down her throat, Dean cringed as any natural human would faced with another creature drinking his blood. He looked away but not for long as bright white light tinged with gold pulled back his attention. The light filled her essence from the feet upward. It spilled into her freely but by the time it reached her waist, Dean, the graceless angels, and the humans witnessing no longer tolerated their eyes burning hotter. They flung arms over their eyes, feeling like the sun itself landed in the cave.

"Shit!" shouted Dean over the fearful cries scattered through the crowd.

He and several others hit the cold stone floor, knocked off their feet by an explosion. Dean's arms flew over his head, yet no debris flew past anyone. His ears rung in the aftermath of the oppressive explosion.

Hearing slowly recovered and he looked up from his knees. An explosion certainly occurred but the cave remained perfectly untouched and in tact. Those without the protection of grace glanced around, stunned as Dean, and some stood again. Ever the hunter, Dean tensed with the unexpected, the potential fight, but none presented. He climbed to his feet, uncertain and searching for his family. Near the front of the crowd, they remained, checking each other out and looking for him.

Mary stood like a living statue as if nothing happened. She waited for the crowd to settle. Something about her had changed, though not visible, Dean certainly sensed it.

Wings filled in behind her. Perfect, tall, fluffy white wings like crushed pearls rubbed into each feather. Just as the wings filled in behind her, the feathers dropped one by one, until whole pieces of her wings dissolved. White dust coated the floor around her feet and blew away by a breeze no one felt.

Scattered people at the front of the crowd dropped to their knees. Many others followed and eventually they all ended up on their knees before the new goddess. Dean hesitated. A man like him never got on his knees for anyone, but then his eye caught Castiel's tall frame folded on the ground as well. She'd protected his family and given him back the only thing he'd ever loved, besides the blood of family. So Dean felt himself sinking to the ground as well.

The angel lost her wings and a goddess was born.

And then she began to speak. "Never feel, my darling children, that your faith is contingent upon force. I draw you to my bosom if you open your arms to me. There shall be no blind obedience, no punishment for questioning orders, and no restrictions upon the natural flow of thought and emotion. Those who serve me serve humanity with the love and peace we show our own collective family. The strongest faith is acquired by free will. I shall endeavor to make myself worthy of your faith by working a series of miracles here on Earth in the coming years. Together, we shall change the face of faith in the universe."

Loud applause erupted in the crowd. Even Sam, Amina, and Castiel appeared pleased by her promises. Although she hadn't broken her word to Dean in any way yet, he needed to see her follow through with those plans. He wondered if he'd ever fully trust anyone outside of his family, goddess who saved Castiel's life or not.

One of the handmaidens handed her the chest of grace vials. She opened the lid and placed it on the altar.

"Today is a day of joy and celebration. Eat, dance, drink, love, and live to honor those lost in our war for freedom. When you choose, you may come and reclaim your graces. A new home in our Heaven awaits you when you are ready."

Applause turned into cheers and Dean thought he saw a flash of a subtle smile cross Mary's lips. He was more than glad for the stiff ceremony to be over, and without a hitch, so he could rejoin his family. The possibility of food had his stomach grumbling with interest, although he had trouble imagining graceless angels  _dancing_. They had always seemed so stiff and boring. A new era of faith, indeed.

Castiel found Dean first outside, milling around the clumps of socializing graceless angels. Occasional flashes of grace light inside the cave indicated an angel approached Mary for the return of his or her essence. To her credit, she gave the vials back herself when, Dean guessed, she could have easily given the task to some flunkie. The stripped down way of ruling appealed to him. So far, Mary was the least pretentious or egotistical goddess he'd ever encountered.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel, taking Dean's face in his hands and kissing him in front of the entire host. They were allowed to do that now. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." His eyes shot around but no one cared or even paid attention to their kiss. They all looked like ice cream cones scattered around the slope of the mountain, talking, laughing, and all very relaxed. "You okay, Cas? Explosion hurt you?"

"No. I'm quite well." He smiled indulgently. "Relax, Dean. It's safe to enjoy yourself for a day. Have you ever had Arabic food?"

Dean shook his head, distracted by the arrival of Brigid and her faithful. Warm greetings filled the mountain between graceless angels and rather solid Celtic spirits.

"Good. Amina and Sam are bringing food. I told them we'd find a tree to sit under for shade," he said as if it wasn't the weirdest party ever.

"What's going on there?" asked Dean, gesturing toward several Celtic men setting up around a massive boulder. He thought he saw musical instruments but they were too far away to know for sure.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder where Dean pointed. "Music. Celtic songs are quite enjoyable."

Behind him, Bastet brought along Isis and her soldiers from the Egyptian Underworld. As fierce as he knew them to be on the battlefield, their interaction with the graceless angels and Celtic spirits that day amounted to ... friendliness. Egyptians were much more of a warm, welcoming people than he expected.

"You look a bit overwhelmed, Dean," commented Castiel with a smirk.

Dean leaned in and said discreetly, "Being outnumbered by this many solid spirits and shit doesn't make you nervous?"

"Any other day, maybe, yes," Castiel conceded. He shrugged, his smile turning sideways and highly amused. "Haven't you ever simply enjoyed a celebration before?"

The question stopped Dean and his brain went blank. "Well... no."

"You will today," he decided firmly, grabbing Dean by the hand. "Come now. I want you to meet some of my brothers and sisters before they return home."

Dean trailed behind Castiel obediently but he struggled to simply relax. They passed by the musicians working their way through a fast-paced opening song, which sounded like being a third class passenger in the Titanic movie. He half-expected to see Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio dancing in the crowd, but the oddest sight of intermingling Egyptians, Celts, and graceless angels dancing together struck him more. On the other side of the celebrating, he spotted Sam and Amina collecting different types off food. They both laughed at something.

Okay, maybe Dean could relax a little.


	34. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parties given by Mary, the new Goddess of Heaven, are definitely a little weird to Dean. He mingles among the faithful of other gods and goddesses fully expect a fight somewhere but the fight never comes. It's uncomfortable getting used to a postwar world where things are actually peaceful. Bastet surprises him with her reluctance to let go of their connection. Even more shocking, Magdalena gives Dean something that could change his entire existence if he chooses it. But for now, he's intrigued by the idea of a normal family. In the meantime, Sam finally has the conversation with Castiel that he's been dreading. The Winchesters embark on a normal life for a while with Amina and Castiel.

"Here, try this," urged Castiel, holding a purplish fruit to Dean's mouth.

Dean bit into it and offered a hum of pleasure as he chewed.

"It's a fig. Jesus had quite a taste for them." Castiel popped the other half into his own mouth. He appeared quite at ease with food for only really eating the last two days.

Sam sat cross-legged on the ground across from them with Amina by his side. "Wait, so Jesus was real?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, "but not exactly the way the Bible has it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked as he dipped a date into some unidentified sticky sweet sauce.

"You couldn't exactly tell people the main figure in the Bible was a nephilim long after God banned romantic interaction between angels and humans," explained Amina quite casually considering the shocking revelation. "It's the greatest public relations cleanup in history."

"You're joking." It stunned Sam so much that he clearly forgot he was eating bread dipped in olive oil.

"Oh no, I'm serious," said Amina, again, so casual as if it happened yesterday. "Mother was over the moon for Joseph. So Father, seeing an opportunity to reestablish control, sent Gabriel down to inform her that she was pregnant. You know - this is what you'll name the child, this is his destiny, and he's a nephilim so he'll eventually have to die, but aren't I merciful for letting him live thirty-three years serving mankind and me instead of killing him outright? From then on, Mother had to obey without question. It's kind of how we ended up here. You cage a bird too long, it'll either break free or die in confinement. She broke free."

"Wow," said Dean, glancing at his own angel. "This must be why Magdalena's being made an archangel instead of punished for letting Granddad knock her up."

"Feminine empathy is a powerful thing," commented Castiel.

Over the Celtic music and laughing revelry further down the mountain slope, another rhythm of music roared above it, mixed with louder cheers and mirth. The four of them turned toward the noise from their impromptu picnic under an olive tree and watched a parade of dancing people in long, sleeveless robes. Women twirled and waved colorful silk scarves over their heads while men rhythmically pounded hand drums. Venus led the procession. She skipped and spun happily as she threw fistfuls of bright purple flowers into the air. Several of the women dropped flower crowns on the heads of those they passed.

"Romans," muttered Castiel. "I've never known them to be punctual in more than two thousand years."

"But they've always known how to make an entrance," added Amina.

Chuckling in disbelief, Dean shook his head. "Weird friggin party."

"Don't knock a flower crown until you've had one. I'm gonna go get a few before they're gone." Amina's excited, shining eyes could have cracked a smile from the most hardened hunter. She pecked Sam on the lips and trotted down the slope toward the loud mass of Romans.

Once she was gone, Sam shifted on the ground and awkwardly cleared his throat. "So Cas, um, let's go for a walk."

"And leave the food, Sam?" His interest in food was only surpassed by his interest in sex, not that Sam needed to know.

The Winchester brothers briefly made eye contact and communicated about a thousand things in a few seconds. Chiefly, this was Sam taking his moment to tell Castiel that he wanted to marry Amina. His anxiety amused Dean to no end but he knew better than to get involved. It was between both of them.

Sam smiled. "Cas, when someone says let's go for a walk, it's a polite way of saying I gotta talk to you alone."

"Oh..." He glanced at Dean, who shrugged and pretended not to know the reason.

Dean climbed to his feet instead. "Tell you what. I'll go..." he said with a pause as he glanced around, "...I'll go attempt to socialize. But I'm not dancing. Ever."

*****

It was probably best to catch him in a good mood, surrounded by partying people soon to be angels again. Just in case it went bad. Sam couldn't imagine that Castiel would refuse him but, as he poured more wine into antiquated pewter goblets, he expected that every man approached that situation with abject terror.

He reminded himself to thank Dean later for getting the hell out of there without a single joke. But in the meantime, Sam refilled Castiel's goblet and then swallowed a generous amount from his own.

"Is everything all right, Sam?" The former angel's eyes slanted downward in intensified focus. "You appear a bit more distracted than usual."

"I'm okay." Sam raked a quick hand through his hair.

"What did you wish to discuss?"

"Marriage," he blurted without any of the finesse he'd rehearsed.

Castiel's head tilted, making Sam swallow down a chuckle as he realized some habits were intrinsic to him whether he was an angel or not. He didn't catch on yet. Sam watched the mechanisms of his mind try to lock into place and roll together. They couldn't play this guessing game all afternoon.

"Cas," he began, clearing his throat again, "I wanna marry Mina."

"Oh, I see. Have you asked her?"

Sam nodded.

"And did she agree?"

Sam nodded again.

The flash of confusion on Castiel's features became more pronounced as he inhaled deeply and leaned back against the trunk of the olive tree. His features turned pensive, yet Sam didn't feel it was directed at him. It appeared that he simply didn't have a reference for that kind of conversation. Sam could handle that munch better than flat-out rejection.

"It's the right thing to do, asking the woman's father, when you want to marry her," he explained carefully. "Mina's father is ... well, he's not here. You're her closest brother, so I'm asking you."

Understanding parted the cloudy confusion on Castiel's face. "I see," he replied, nodding. "You're seeking my permission."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"What if I don't give my consent?"

Sam felt his blood thicken with a burst of anxiety. His palms went sweaty. "Well, it would probably break her heart. Technically, we don't _need_ your permission but I think your approval is important to her." He didn't know where this was going but he didn't like it. The last thing he wanted was to create a divide between brother and sister. "She wants your blessing."

"Sam, I want to be certain that you understand an angel's nature," he said, leaning forward again with his hands folded together. "We may not have our graces anymore, but we still remember the whole of our existences, and we still approach the world like angels."

"Okay," said Sam to show that he listened carefully.

"An angel commits to a cause with everything in us. No commitment is halfway. If she has agreed to marry you, then her promise is for the remainder of her life and beyond. That's how I've given my commitment to Dean as well. We're not married but I'm just as devoted as I would be with the rings and vows. I don't take it lightly and my sister certainly doesn't either." He studied Sam for a long moment. "If you have any doubts about  _your_ commitment, or if there's a chance you'll leave her for the greater cause the way Dean left Lisa, then you will not marry my sister. I won't allow her to be shattered that way."

"I have no doubts," Sam replied with absolute certainty. "Mina's the only one I've wanted to marry since I lost Jess. She knows about all the bad things I've done and she's still with me. That blows my mind." He considered what he should say, really, in that most uncomfortable conversation of his life. "We have a plan. I'm gonna cut back on hunts, but I'm still gonna do it, and she's gonna go to nursing school. We haven't told Dean yet but we're thinking of getting a house in Lawrence so she can go to school in Kansas City. It's a couple of hours from Lebanon, so we're not going that far away. Lawrence is where Dean and I were born. It seems right for me to have a family of my own there."

"To replace the bad memories with good ones," Castiel surmised.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's a nice town and I don't want to spend my life running from my past. Mina's at my side, so we'll be fine there."

Castiel nodded. He understood and that was a good sign. "When will you tell Dean?"

"He knows we're getting married. I guess I'll tell him about Lawrence when the plans are firmed up. It's not like we're gonna run off tomorrow. We just have these goals together and we're working toward the same things." He swallowed more wine.

"I like that. Working together rather than one leading the other." Castiel, too, swallowed wine from his goblet as he thought things over for a moment. "Okay, Sam. I'm satisfied. I give you my ... what did you call it ... my blessing. Just don't make decisions for her. Don't be like our parents." He took another drink, looking like someone traumatized by divorce, yet his parents were cosmic rulers.

Sam exhaled for the first time all day.

*****

It really was the weirdest party Dean had ever seen. Not a single keg in sight or a guy named Don making a quick buck on joints laced with mystery concoctions. Nobody passed out on the lawn either. Everybody got along, everybody mingled and danced together, and nobody seemed drunk in spite of the continuous flow of wine down their gullets.

Dean wandered through people who all seemed to recognized him. Eyes wide with wonder greeted him wherever he went, followed by slow, broad smiles as if angels never knew how to smile before. The women dipped their knees in low curtsies as he walked by, which was fucking insane. He wasn't a goddamn prince but they all behaved as if the Righteous Man was part of Mary's royal family. He didn't understand their reactions to him but he didn't feel it was going to end well if he questioned what the hell they were thinking.

"Dean," a languid, milky voice greeted behind him. "You're looking well."

He turned and found Bastet wearing a clingy white linen dress with lapis lazuli detailing around the neck. Golden feline eyes and elongated fangs didn't seem so out of place in all that revelry. Three ladies, also half-feline, surrounded her. Two had green cat eyes and one had blue, like one of those fluffy white lap cats. He nearly backed away with shock but passed it off as gaining better footing on the rough terrain.

"Bastet. I was wondering if you were gonna turn up," he said, smiling.

"And miss the celebration of the millennium? Not a chance." She smiled back and resembled more of a feline than when she didn't smile. "My handmaidens asked for an introduction. This is Anka, Ranna, and Nasra. Ladies, this is the Righteous Man."

" _Dean_ is more than enough," he replied. "Hi. How's it going?"

The three of them huddled together behind Bastet and giggled at each other like he was a friggin celebrity. He sure as hell didn't get the big deal. It felt weird.

"You have handmaidens too, huh?" he asked just to divert things.

"All goddesses do. Look, just there. Isis taking a stroll with Mary. Those tall Egyptian ladies are Isis' handmaidens mixed in with Mary's handmaidens. You see?" Bastet gestured quite a distance toward the cave where the new queen herself emerged to observed the festivities. She certainly did appear comfortable with Isis as if they were sisters by different parents.

"Huh. How come I never saw yours all this time?" Dean wondered aloud.

Bastet cast an eye over her shoulder and plucked at one of their dresses nearly like a mother grooming her litter. "I was protecting them. I don't like to bring them into potentially dangerous situations." Her attention focused on him again. "Dean, I came to say goodbye."

"Oh... right." He nodded. Of course it was inevitable but he couldn't explain the ache of regret in his gut just then. It was best to get it over with though. He popped the latch on the gold chain around his wrist, the one that bound the cat-goddess to him. "I guess you'll need this back then. You know, and, thanks ... thanks for everything."

"No." Bastet's hand folded over his with the chain and she pushed it back to his chest. "Keep it. Should you ever need my help again, just put it on. I'll come."

"You sure?" he asked with a glance at her nails filed into points.

She leaned in close and lowered her voice, "It was a particular pleasure serving alongside a human who fights like a god."

"Well, I, uh, thanks," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck like Castiel did when he was embarrassed. "Can I get a hug or are you gonna scratch me? Cats are pissy about being touched."

Low laughter emanated from Bastet and she curled herself around Dean's shoulders. Strange, he thought absently, that she felt silky and smooth like cat fur but she occupied a hairless human body. He'd grown accustomed to her hybrid habits and mannerisms too, yet he didn't expect the way her cheek rubbed across his. It was like a cat marking him with her scent. He hugged her back, though, like a human, a friend, and a farewell to a comrade after a war. Soft purring vibrated her chest, which he should have expected, but he couldn't help being fascinated by her walking the tightrope between human and cat.

"Take care of yourself and that angel," she said, releasing him.

"You too. Take care of yourself," he replied.

"A cat always lands on her feet. Goodbye, Dean." Bastet caressed his cheek as she left him and melted into the crowds.

As she disappeared, it finally began to sink into Dean that the war was over. For the first time in ... longer than he could remember, there weren't any pressing catastrophes on the brink of killing his family or millions of other people. Maybe that scared him more than an impending apocalypse. Maybe it meant thinking about himself and considering what he needed to feel fulfilled. That wasn't Dean's way.

He wandered, a bit lost. More people smiled in passing and the women continued to respond to him like he was royalty, but he didn't give it much attention. This wasn't his world. It was theirs and he was just a guest. When they went home to the bunker, Castiel would bitch at him to pick up his dirty underwear off the floor, and he would do it because he liked their little domestics. Nobody would bow or curtsy. Nobody would look at him like the savior of Heaven. And he preferred it that way. It had been a long time since he spent any time with himself.

Something tapped the back of his head and flopped over his hair. A flash of Amina faced him along with the overpowering aroma of flowers as he touched a wreath of blossoms and leaves. She'd found the Romans with the flower crowns and dropped one on his head. He smiled indulgently at her, which made her grin quite happily, and she flung her arms around his neck.

"I'm gonna marry Sam," she told him.

"I know," he replied.

But before he could speak about it further, she was gone again, a wreath of pink and purple flowers framing her dark hair.

"Don't you look festive," teased Magdalena as she approached from the other direction.

Dean smiled, feeling the wrinkles deepen from the corners of his eyes. "There's something really innocent about that girl. She's like a million years old but these little things make her happy." He grabbed the flowers she'd dropped on his head and turned the blue and indigo blossoms in his hands. "How you doing, Magdalena?"

"Tired," she replied honestly. "I'll be glad to get my grace back."

"Why not go get it now? You guys have been flashing away in that cave all afternoon."

"I will. I just want to be sure everybody else ascends safely first."

Dean nodded. He understood. It was the Winchester need to serve everyone else before themselves. "So archangel, huh?"

Magdalena nodded and softly smiled.

"I guess that means we're not gonna see you anymore," he surmised.

"I think you will," she replied. "I've been given the specific dominion between angels and humans. Sort of like checks and balances to make sure there's no abuse of power."

"We needed that all along," he said somewhat regretfully.

"Yes." Magdalena paused, clearly consumed by something else. "Dean, I have something for you. From Mother."

He eyed her questioningly and watched as she held out her hand. Two glass vials of grace rested in her palm. The overpowering light contained in one of the glasses pulled him in like sudden vertigo and tunnel vision all at once.

"You feel it?" she asked softly.

Dean's eyes barely tore from that vial to her face.

"One belongs to Castiel. One belongs to you." Her voice turned rather gentle as if the news might shock his system. "Keep them. Hide them away someplace safe. There may come a day when Castiel wishes to reclaim his place in the heavenly host and Mother wishes you to have the choice as well. There's no reason why either of you have to choose duty over each other, so if the day ever comes, you may be created an angel with him."

Speechless, Dean stared at the vials in her hand, afraid to even touch them. The desire to possess that one vial tugged at the deepest atoms and molecules in his body.

"It's okay, Dean," she coaxed as she grabbed his wrist and folded the vials in his hand. "Give them to Castiel for safekeeping if it's too much for you. He'll know what to do with them." She met his eyes and gave his closed fist an encouraging pat. "And you don't ever have to become one of us if you don't want it. This is merely a 'just in case' option. Okay?"

"Y-yeah." Pull it together, Dean.

"Also," she broke off and waited, apparently wondering if he really listened, "I will have your grandparents and parents moved into Mother's territorial dominion. God may use them for vengeance. They'll be protected as soon as I ascend."

He blinked, having not thought of that and feeling guilty over it. "Thank you." Then it was his turn to pause. "Grandmother Winchester too?"

Magdalena's eyes narrowed. "Of course. She was Henry's wife. Her rightful place is with him, otherwise I wouldn't have sent him back to her." She blew out a slow sigh and glanced at the ground. "I knew my place. Refusing her refuge would tarnish any love I ever felt or still feel for your grandfather. I know you understand that." Her eyes turned further up the slope where Castiel and Sam talked under the olive tree.

"Yeah," Dean said. He did understand. It fell under the category of doing what was right for the person you love even at your own expense.

Magdalena slipped her arms around Dean's shoulders and squeezed him for a long time. "Be good to him. Give him a life he can be proud of." She pressed her lips to his cheek in a lingering kiss. Her voice wavered with emotion. "I'll see you again, Dean. And I'll be watching over your children and grandchildren."

"I'm gonna miss you," he admitted, deliberately ignoring what she said about children. "Do us proud up there."

"Promise," Magdalena replied. Tears rimmed her eyes but she passed it off with a laugh as she pushed him up the slope. "Quit wasting time and go kiss that beautiful man of yours."

He chuckled as he made the steady climb and, with a glance at the glass vials filled with white light tinged in blue, he looked back. Magdalena had already disappeared. It seemed she was about as fond of emotional moments as him. Though he couldn't shake the sense of loss as he made his way back to Castiel, the finality of that war left him more hopeful for the future than he had been in the past. He peered at the flower crown Amina had given him in the other hand. Heaven and Earth gripped in each hand made him feel smaller in the universe than ever. That was a little bit exciting.

"Hey," Sam said as Dean dropped to the ground. "What's that?"

"Amina attacked me with a flower crown. She'll come after you two next," he said with a little smile. Discreetly, he slipped the two graces in his pocket. "How's it going here?"

"I have given your brother the blessing to marry my sister," Castiel said.

"Oh, great." Dean nodded. Impulsively, he added, "We could do that too. If, you know, if you want."

"I want," replied Castiel with a sly smirk.

"Okay then." Again, Dean nodded. "We'll do that."

Dramatically, Sam clutched his chest and wiped faux tears from his eyes. "Oh my God, that was the most romantic proposal I've ever seen!"

"Shut up." Dean grabbed a hardened chunk of bread and beaned it off Sam's face. "I'm just not suave enough to do it on the side of the highway in my new car."

"Yeah, because you'll never sell the Impala."

"Damn right. That's my baby," he jabbed back. "And when we get home, I think we should all go on a vacation. Chill out. Relax. Actually  _be_ a family like we keep saying."

Sam nodded, thinking about it. "I don't even know how to think of a vacation."

"Well, go pluck your woman out of the dancing hippies. It's time we think about this whole family thing like everybody else does for once."

Yeah. Dean thought maybe he could get used to being a normal family for a little while. It was Sam's dream to be normal his whole life. And he wanted to give Castiel a life he would be proud to look back on in old age. Sure, there would always be hunting and cases to work. They were Winchesters after all. But they fought for free will and the ability to live a life of their own design. It started, Dean guessed, with exploring the mystery of a real family vacation.

Another impulse overtook Dean as he leaned over and pressed his mouth to Castiel's lips. That beautiful man was his alone and they didn't have to run or hide from it anymore.


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the Virgin Mary's war of angelic freedom, life has certainly changed for the Winchester family. Peace in Heaven means they've been able to enjoy living as a real family. Amina and Sam plot a welcome home dinner for the newest addition and prepare for their own as well.

5 years later  
Kansas City, KS

"There you go, Mr. Lang. Transport will be down soon to take you up to your room." Amina initialed the old man's chart and put the call button in his hand under the blanket. "Just press this button if you need anything. Try to get some rest now, okay? Keep the mask on. Slow, steady breaths."

The balding elderly man nodded from behind his oxygen mask. Flu season hit the old folks hard as soon as the first snow hit eastern Kansas and western Missouri that winter. Amina felt bad for the poor elderly who never sought medical intervention until they developed pneumonia, like Mr. Lang, because they couldn't afford it. She made sure he had a pre-warmed blanket before she flipped off the lights and left him to sleep.

"Mina, your shift's over. You can go," said Patricia, her supervisor, in a blur of rushed teal scrubs.

"Oh, it's okay. My husband's not here yet. I can still work," Amina replied.

Patricia glanced over her shoulder with a gesture around the corner. "He's been waiting out there for fifteen minutes. Go home before the snow gets really bad. Have a good night." She waved over her head and disappeared into a room.

Well, that was that, it seemed. Amina headed down the hall toward the nurse's station, the nerve center of the emergency department. Spotting Sam in a crowd never proved a problem as her eye immediately fell on his tall frame bent over one of the upper-level counters. His chestnut hair looked a little more golden over the deep mocha shade of his winter coat. Hands protectively kept a small child sitting on the counter. The two of them looked rather engrossed in discussion even though the boy wasn't yet two. Sam laughed suddenly as he adjusted the boy's dark blue coat and gray knitted hat. Amina stopped long enough to put on her own coat.

"Look at my boys all bundled up for the snow," she said, approaching.

"Hi, baby," Sam greeted with a kiss, having not let go of the baby. "It's a big deal. Bobby's first snow."

"It snowed last year." Amina plucked her son off the counter.

"Not like what they're predicting tonight. We gotta go or they're gonna beat us to the house. I picked up the cake and the balloons on the way here," he explained as he grabbed her purse from under the desk area where she normally worked.

"And the pie?"

"And the pie."

They walked out together and she snuggled Bobby close to her chest, tugging his knitted hat carefully over his ears. He played with the necklace tucked into her scrubs as he babbled, "Mamamamama," the way he did in bouts of mindless innocence. She nibbled his pudgy cheek, regretting how long shifts at the hospital kept her from her son, despite loving her job.

"I took the second test at lunch," she said, lowering her tone.

Sam glanced her way as they emerged into the bitter cold. "And?"

"Positive," she replied simply. "Definitely positive."

An excited smile lit up Sam's face and he squished her close with their mutual stride across the parking lot. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I think we'll have better luck this time."

Amina nodded and truly tried to undo the coiled up fear in her stomach but she couldn't help it. Bobby squirmed in her arms, bringing her right back into the present moment. There wasn't much time to dwell on worrying with a thirteen-month-old in constant need of care and attention. She strapped her boy into his car seat in the backseat of their Yukon and cast a quick eye to the pink balloons floating around the back.

The roads weren't as much of a mess as she expected given the heavy snowfall remaining steady along their drive out to Lawrence. She periodically checked her watch and hoped they were going to beat Dean and Castiel to the house. At least they all lived in the same neighborhood if the snow got too bad.  It had been her idea to give a little family welcome home dinner for their first child and Sam, knowing exactly where Dean kept his spare key, thought they could pull it off.

They'd gotten the call the morning before. Dean sounded expectant but terrified when he told them that the birth mother's water broke and he was on his way to meet her at the hospital. Castiel had been late, arriving just in time to see the birth yesterday afternoon, but they'd long since gotten used to him being late for everything. Running his own charity kept him knee-deep in paperwork, phone calls, and meetings day and night. Wounded soldiers became his driving force three years ago, and then he expanded into lobbying the government for better treatment of combat veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress. Everything he did was in the name of the Church of the Goddess Mary, and remembering the suffering he endured in her war.

Amina let out a little sigh of relief the Yukon pulled into Dean and Castiel's empty driveway. Maybe they were waiting for the snow to let up a bit before bringing the new baby home from the hospital.

She hopped out and skipped to the mailbox with pink balloons, tying them securely. Thankfully the wind wasn't that bad. She then grabbed the cake box with the pie on top of it as Sam carried Bobby in one arm like a fat football. They got into the house easily and Amina set to work right away, not knowing how much time they had. She put the food on the kitchen counter and then unfolded the homemade banner complete with colorful scribbling by Bobby's hand.

"Where do you want it?" asked her personal step-ladder.

"The archway here going into the kitchen. They'll see it as soon as they walk in the front door," she explained with excited gestures.

As Sam did her decorating bidding, Bobby pulled himself up on the coffee table with unsteady toddling legs. He always had a tasty fascination with the remote control and Amina constantly yanked it out of his mouth. She replaced it with a toy from his own diaper bag.

"How's this?"

Amina looked up at the banner and smiled.

_Welcome home, Lia Mary Winchester!_

"Perfect," she decided.

"It's hard to picture Dean and Cas with a baby," commented Sam as he flopped on the couch and flicked channels. "I should've figured something was up when Dean decided to start operating from home like Bobby did. I feel bad for any pimply-faced kid coming by to date his daughter though."

"That's a long way off," Amina replied. "I think they're just getting older and more settled."

"Dean's only 40. Cas is…"

"…43."

"Right. I wonder why Jimmy and Theresa were born so far apart," he said, referring to the fact that Castiel's vessel was eleven years older than Amina's vessel.

She shrugged. "I don't think about it anymore."

The front doorknob jiggled and Castiel blew in from the snowstorm with Dean close behind. Once a powerful angel, he now wore a rich green sweater under his chocolaty brown leather jacket. Light sprinkles of gray showed at his temples, drawn there by a pair of stylish rectangular glasses always present on his face. He carried a bag over his shoulder and held the door open for Dean.

"I knew you guys weren't going to be able to stay away long," he laughed. "Bobby, you eating my remote again?"

Excitement rushed through Amina as she clapped her hands together in delight. Dean carried the newborn's car seat with a soft pink knitted blanket tented over it.

"Pink balloons, dude? Really?" Dean smirked at his brother, although his eyes warmed to the gesture more than his smart mouth did.

Chuckling, Sam shrugged in feigned innocence. "You're the one who had a girl. Expect a lot of pink in your life."

"Quit yapping! Let's see the baby!" Amina squeaked.

"Okay, okay!" Dean smiled as he put the car seat on the coffee table and knelt on the floor. He pulled off the blanket and handed it to Castiel, who quickly shrugged off the bag and his coat.

Uncertain of how he'd react to another baby, Amina picked up Bobby and balanced him on her hip. Sam, on the couch, abandoned the search for a football game on television and leaned forward with interest, trying to get a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

They watched a hardened hunter coo at the car seat as he expertly flipped back the handle and undid the straps.

"Hand under the head," Castiel cautioned as he hovered behind.

"I got it, I got it," retorted Dean in a deliberately quieter voice. He snuggled the tiny bundle in one arm, his large Winchester size making her look like a doll. The little thing was wrapped in a white blanket even softer than the pink one, as if Dean never wanted his child to know the harshness in the world.

"Oh my goodness," cooed Amina in a high singsong voice as she leaned in for a closer look. "She's beautiful! I don't think Bobby was ever that tiny."

"Well, that's what happens when you mate with a moose," Dean joked.

Nestled in a white cloud of warm blankets, baby Lia brought a delicate hand to her mouth and flexed her fingers. She could have easily passed for Dean's biological child even though they adopted her from a fifteen-year-old girl, a daughter of Ukrainian immigrants. The birth mother had been so unwilling to know a thing about the child that she refused an open adoption and gave the baby to Dean and Castiel without any trouble. Baby Lia was theirs for the rest of her life.

"She has long fingers. She'll be great with a gun when she grows up." Sam peered down at the baby with an examining smile.

Dean laughed. "Of course she’ll be great with a gun, and knives, and ritual exorcisms, and everything else. She's a Winchester."

"Or she could be a teacher, a dancer, or own a business," Amina added.

"Hmm," Dean replied with a frown. "I don't know anything about tutus."

"You'll learn as you go along." Tenderly, she reached a finger out and Lia's tiny hand wrapped around it. "Welcome to the family, Lia. We gotta stick together being the only girls here, okay?"

"Okay, Dean," interrupted Castiel, "give me the baby. You have to go finish the case. I'm not having the phone ring at three in the morning."

"Yes, dear," sassed Dean as he carefully passed Lia to her other daddy. "C'mon, Sammy. Help me play FBI supervisors downstairs. Krissy's got a spontaneous combustion case in Oregon giving her trouble."

The brothers left Castiel and Amina with Bobby and Lia for the basement. Dean had an office down there where he stored his lore books and worked with every hunter in the Midwest. Everyone grew to accept him and Garth as Bobby Singer's legacies, and they heeded their word as the old man's. It was a good compromise since neither he nor Castiel wanted to raise a child on the road. Sam and Amina didn't either but she allowed him to go and hunt when he felt restless. Stifling his nature would only hurt them in the end.

"She's really gorgeous," Amina said with all of her sincerity. "I think you guys are gonna be great parents."

"I hope so," replied Castiel quietly as he slid the sleeping infant into the brand new baby swing near the doorway between the kitchen and living room. He set it at a gentle rhythm and then watched her for a while as if she might start screaming at any second.

It looked so endearing but Amina knew the anxiety of being a new parent all too well. "Cas, newborns pretty much sleep, eat, and poop. She'll let you know when she needs you."

"Yes, of course," he said reluctantly. "You staying for dinner?"

"If you want us."

"Don't leave yet."

Amina chuckled as she set up Bobby on the floor with his toys. "Okay, don't worry." She remembered the food in the kitchen. "Hey, we brought you cake and pie. You know, celebrating the baby coming home."

"Cake," he said as he dashed into the kitchen. Dean's love for pie was only surpassed by Castiel's love for cake. From the kitchen, he called to her in the living room, "Do you want red or white tonight?"

"Oh, no wine for me, thanks."

" _You_ don't want wine? Is the world ending again?"

"Not exactly." Sighing, Amina absently touched her abdomen with a hot flush of fear. "I'm ... uh ... I'm pregnant again."

The silhouette of Castiel's upper body leaned into the doorway. His presence stiffened with concern but he said nothing. It wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in front of Bobby even though he certainly didn't understand, so she left him among his toys on the living room floor. She drifted into the kitchen and leaned on the edge of the sink, watching the snow swirl around in the dark.

"We didn't plan it this soon. Bobby's only thirteen-months-old. After everything I went through to just have him, I didn't think it'd happen again." Tears stung her eyes but she refused to let it show. "This is my fourth pregnancy and I've only got one baby to show for it. I want to be excited but I'm afraid it's going to happen again. Sometimes I wonder if Mother's testing me but this isn't really my body. Theresa Novak had fertility problems and I'm reaping those struggles now. I doubt she even knew her body was defective."

"You're not defective," assured Castiel. "No human body is without some kind of struggle. Mine has poor eyesight and premature arthritis. It's nothing like what you've endured to be a mother but it certainly isn't your fault. Human bodies are fragile and filled with imperfections."

Nodding, Amina wiped her eyes with her fingertips.

"How did Sam receive the news?" he asked.

"He's excited. He thinks our luck will change this time."

Castiel smiled and patted her back. "I think he's right."

Tiny baby squalling erupted from the swing in the living room. Lia had a good set of lungs on her for being just a day old, Amina thought as she watched her brother rush into the other room. She sliced into the cake for him while he attended to his new baby, remembering how every little bit of help got her through the first days with Bobby.

"Oh no," Castiel muttered in the living room.

"What?" asked Amina.

"Lia's wet her dress."

Amina smirked. "Okay, then change her diaper and clothes."

"But I don't know how. The nurse gave Dean the diaper lesson, not me. I should get him," he said in a rush of syllables bordering on real panic.

"No, no, no." It took everything Amina had not to laugh as she abandoned the cake for her brother's red alert baby problem. "You got this, Cas. Come on. Grab a baby. We're taking this party upstairs to the nursery." She hooked hands under her own child's arms and carried him upstairs with Castiel and Lia close behind. "You have a sister for a reason. We don't need a hunter for a messy diaper."

She flicked on the lights in the unused nursery, decorated in a butterfly theme. Neither Dean nor Castiel had known about little girls and they'd asked Amina to help choose things for the small room across the hall from their bedroom. Of five different themes she suggested, they liked the butterflies best. Dean had chosen it as the least pastel theme of all, saying he wouldn't puke with brighter colors. So, butterflies won the battle for the baby's room. He was built with such a hard exterior but Amina knew that baby girl was going to be a daddy's girl.

"First rule is don't ever leave the baby unattended on the changing table. She'll learn to roll over before you know it. You don't want her wiggling off." She stood by, swaying Bobby absently from side to side.

Castiel nodded as he laid Lia out on the table. His mouth thinned out in a line of concentration as Amina instructed him in the art of changing a successful diaper. He always had a knack for over-complicating any task and she thought it would probably take a few tries before he could do it without thinking so hard.

"Don't forget a little powder on her butt," she urged gently.

He nodded and reached for the powder. "Sister, I'm eight-million-years-old. I don't know why changing a simple diaper is so complicated."

"It's complicated because you're a father to a little girl now," she replied with a hand on his shoulder. "You want to give her the best life and do everything right. Every father does. One day soon, you'll be more confident about having a baby, but more importantly, you'll learn that it's okay to mess up. You can't avoid messing up with babies. They're remarkably resilient though. If she wets her dress or gets a diaper rash - and she will - it's okay."

Castiel's thoughtful blue eyes softened toward Amina as he briefly nodded, clearly trying to absorb her advice. He took a deep breath and carefully unbuttoned the soiled baby dress with a warm, fuzzy, purple onesie ready to go.

"Do you think you'll ever tell Bobby what you were?" he asked after a while. "You know, where we came from?"

"I think so. When he's much older, of course," she replied. "Sam and I talked about it before he was born. We thought he'll have to know about his hunter side for his own protection and Sam thinks he'll inevitably have questions about my side. He'll wonder why you're my only family, yet I talk about a 'mother' and 'father' that he'll never see. We just don't think it's fair to keep such a huge secret about half of his background."

Again, Castiel nodded and took it all in.

"Are you going to tell Lia?" she probed in her gentlest tone.

"I'm uncertain. I have no wish to keep secrets from her. It all depends on her knowledge of who I was will protect her or make her vulnerable," he said quietly. "Do you ever think about going back?"

"No. Goodness, no." Amina emphatically shook her head. "I was done the minute I got pushed to Earth. Sam still keeps my grace around his neck though. I'm not really attracted to it anymore. It seems like a whole other lifetime."

"Interesting," he murmured.

"You ever think about it?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he said with an honest shrug. "Dean and I decided we'd never go back until Lia's settled in her own life, if we go at all. I think it would take another catastrophe, another war, for us to consider it. But I feel my work with combat veterans has just as much value. I understand what they've endured. Fighting for them is like fighting for myself."

"Sounds like you've got it figured out," Amina said with a smile.

"Hey!" Dean's voice bellowed in the stairwell. "Who left the cake out? It's mine now!"

The Winchester brothers filed into the nursery, each stuffing cake into their mouths. An immediate smile came over Dean at the sight of his new baby in her fuzzy, purple onesie. He put the cake plate on her dresser in passing and wiped his hands before he picked her up off the changing table. Snuggling her close to his chest, he peppered her plump cheek with kisses.

"Papa's got you dressed like a friggin muppet," he teased.

"I changed a diaper," Castiel announced through a lopsided smile.

Sam scraped the last of the frosting off his plate. "Is anyone starving? I'm starving. Lia? Can I interest you in a fine vintage of a bottle?"

"Pizza?" Dean suggested.

That suggestion suddenly sounded like the best idea in the world to Amina and her stomach rumbled against Bobby in her arms. "Oh my goodness, yes! Pizza!" She headed out of the nursery, saying, "I need Canadian bacon and pineapple, like, right now."

"Since when do you want meat?" Dean asked, following her with Lia in his arms. Jokingly, he added, "You're pregnant, right?" but he had no idea how close to the truth he hit.

By that time next year, a third baby would be welcomed home. Life rolled on for the Winchester family.


	36. Preview of Blood Sacrifice, sequel to Raven From The Ashes

I have begun the sequel to this story by the request of my readers. You can subscribe and bookmark it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1088873

Summary:

_More than five years after fighting in the Virgin Mary's war for power, the Winchesters have settled into lives of peace and normality. Sam and Amina have just had their second baby, while Dean and Castiel raise their 8-month-old daughter, all together in the same neighborhood of Lawrence, Kansas. Castiel's increasing public notoriety comes with his charity work and Dean takes to the road less and less, instead favoring the role Bobby once played for hunters. But their quiet life comes to a screeching halt when fellow hunter, Krissy Chambers, calls with a plea for help. She's stolen a holy object before the Knights Templar could destroy it. Chased by the Templars as well as God's angels and Abaddon's demons, Dean finds his family yet again at the center of a battle between cosmic forces. Only when the new Queen of Hell kidnaps his baby, Lia Mary, and holds her hostage for the holy artifact, will he and Castiel do the one thing they swore they'd never do - become the Virgin Mary's angels to fight Hell, save the holy artifact, and save their child._

Preview of chapter one:

_Airports were the portal of Hell. Dean knew it. He was an expert on those things. The way Castiel strolled alongside him, chattering on his pet iPhone with one hand and pushing the baby stroller with the other made Dean feel even more out of place. Vampires, skinwalkers, werewolves, vengeful ghosts, demons - nothing got him so unglued as getting on the deathtrap of an airplane._

_His own cell blared in his pocket, jarring his nerves even more. Getting to it in his back pocket required juggling luggage and bending like an acrobat but he grabbed it._

_"Yeah?" he said tensely._

_"Hey, Dean. It's Krissy Chambers," the feminine voice greeted._

_"Oh wow, talk about a blast from the past. Last time I saw you, I guess you were - what - sixteen?"_

_"Seventeen. I'm twenty-three now," she replied, though her tone suggested no interest in socializing. "Listen, Dean, I've got something pretty big here and I think it's way above my pay grade. With Bobby long gone and everything--"_

_"--What's up?" This was Dean's job. He considered himself Bobby's heir and he'd gotten pretty good at filling his shoes for other hunters over the years, along with Garth's help._

_"Well, we were on a demon case. Followed the omens to Oxford--"_

_"--Oxford?"_

_Krissy paused. "England, Dean."_

_"I know where Oxford is, but I didn't realize American hunters followed jobs overseas. European hunters are...." He struggled to find a better term than territorial assholes, but if they walked like ducks and quacked like ducks, he wouldn't find a better description._

_"Yeah, I know," she said with a sigh as if she knew what he meant. "I followed a guy out there. An English hunter. Said he's a legacy Man of Letters in the UK, which I thought was weird because we all know the Men of Letters were begun by Americans. As it turns out, he was a liar. At least about that. He fed me stories about the Men of Letters that started sounding weirdly familiar and then it hit me. He's one of the Knights Templar, not a Man of Letters. The Knights are sworn to secrecy, so he was trying to let me know he was part of something huge without spelling it out and getting in trouble."_

_The story definitely caught Dean's attention. He assumed she followed that guy in some young love affair but he didn't say so. Instead, he wondered, "I thought the Knights Templar were dissolved in the - what - fourteenth century, and they went underground and reformed as the Freemasons later on."_

_That got Castiel's attention. He cast a sharp eye at Dean and quickly ended his own phone call. They stood in line at Starbucks, though Dean barely noticed. Castiel's need for sugary, creamy coffee matched his own need for pie._

_"That's what they want you to think. Most of their descendants became Freemasons much later, but the direct descendants of the Templar higher-ups kept the order's secrets and traditions alive. Just because they're officially gone doesn't mean the secrets they protected disappeared too." Rustling on Krissy's end of the line sounded like she had records in front of her. "Everything checks out. William doesn't know it but I did his genealogy and he goes straight back to the last Templar leader. He's definitely one of them."_

_"Okay," replied Dean with knitted brows. "Sounds like you got a pretty good handle on it. What do you need me for?"_

_"I stole something from the Templar headquarters over there," she blurted. "I'm hiding out ... somewhere else now. The thing ... it's huge, Dean. I mean globally huge. They were going to destroy it and I don't understand why. I think their numbers are dwindling and they'd rather destroy these things than risk ... well ..." A short, fearful burst of laughter cut into her thought. "They'd rather destroy things than risk idiots like me stealing them."_

_"Krissy...." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean suddenly felt a headache brewing. "What did you take?"_

_"I can't talk about it on the phone. Where are you?"_


End file.
